


The Past is Prologue

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-12 19:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months following Amon's defeat, life changes. (One interpretation of Book 2.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 水善 - Water is Benevolent

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: In the months following Amon's defeat, life changes. Korra struggles to navigate her way through Aang's spiritual guidance, her evolving relationship with Mako and her friends, and the constant struggle against adversaries both old and new. Her journey towards destiny has only just begun. It won't be happily ever after, but since when has that ever been the Avatar's story?
> 
> Written for [Het Bigbang](http://het-bigbang.livejournal.com/) over at livejournal. Wow. This is, essentially, my virtual Book 2 story, which will obviously be proven way off-canon once the show actually airs Book 2, but in the meantime, I hope you enjoy what I'd like to see grace the screen. I pretty much tossed all the characters in here, and I'm curious to see how close I got in characterization with people like Iroh and Bumi, but it was a fun challenge to try 'em out! ;) 
> 
> Thanks to Ed for beta'ing, and Lanna_Kitty for being a sounding-board. You guys rock!
> 
> There's GORGEOUS artwork for this fic: [Three pieces](http://archiveofourown.org/works/495239) by waferkya.

* * *

> **水善 - Water is Benevolent**

It isn’t happily ever after, but then again, Korra never believed it could be that simple.  
  
It takes a week for them to leave the Southern Water Tribe. The respite is a luxury and it’s clearly on Tenzin’s insistence. They don’t tell her but she isn’t blind. They do it for  _her._  Korra may have regained her bending and contacted the Spiritual world; she may have a firmer grasp on her role now, a sense of duty that feels crisp and clear rather than hazy and far-flung; she may even have her personal life a bit more under control, with Mako by her side and everyone she loves and cares about living practically within one stretch of an arm. But she is still Korra, and despite bravado, she's more than willing to admit that she doesn't know _exactly_ what to do next. She supposes that’s what being the Avatar is all about: warring with yourself to find the right path, life filled with this fragile existence full of contradictory halves. Yin and Yang. Opposites finding a balance. She acts like she knows it all and can handle anything, but the more time passes, the more Korra realizes just how crazy and unpredictable life can be.   
  
But that first week – that week is a godsend for a number of reasons.  
  


* * *

It is also problematic.

She fumbles around Asami as graceless as an elephantbuffolo in a tea shop. She’s gathered enough from Mako that he’d broken up with Asami within a handful of hours before declaring his love for another woman, and even if Korra  _is_  that other woman, she still winces. Not that she was any better, looking back. Even without her imposing destiny and the fate of a city resting in her rough hands, Korra admits to a few impetuous youthful indiscretions: kissing Mako during the tournament is a featured highlight. 

So, those first few days, Korra submits to the small childish part inside of her and hides out with Mako in the distant parts of the tribal quarters. The compound is an isolated encampment secured by thick ice walls and a large gate. It's big and expansive, but at the same time incredibly _empty._ She sneaks out with Mako more than a few times, riding with him on Naga across the frozen tundra, to the seacliffs and the frozen lakes and the eastern stretch of virgin snow so vast and wide it feels like they’re virtually the only two people in the whole world.

As they ride she feels his arms sturdy and strong around her waist, contrasted to how stiff and distant he’d been the first time he’d ridden Naga when he’d avoided any contact with her like she had the plague. “You’ve come a long way, City Boy,” she teases, feelings his fingers press firmly into her hips, and she’s not gonna lie – the familiarity with which he touches is a bit distracting.

“Yeah?” he murmurs into her ear, breath warm as it wafts over her skin, flushing goosebumbs. “Well, I guess you’ve taught me a lot.”

That isn’t true, though. She feels like he’s taught her more than anything.

* * *

Her mother cooks up a storm. She touches Korra about a dozen times in the process – sits her down in her chair like she’s eighty, talks animatedly while she throws watertribe delicacies into a pot, touches Korra on one shoulder, kisses her on top of the head, then not long after, sits down beside Korra and takes both hands into her own and just sits there.

“How’re you doing, Korra? Really?”

Korra wants to complain –  _I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. I’m an adult. I’m the Avatar_  – but it’s a comfort to be back home, and that’s what this place is more than anything else. Republic City is wonderful and breathtaking, but it’s been equal parts exploration and intimidation, like growing pains. The Southern Tribe, on the other hand, is  _home_. It’s safe and comforting, and Korra is not above seeking solace in old comforts right now. 

“Better,” Korra says, because it’s the only truthful answer she can give that won't needlessly worry her mother.

That night, her mother prepares enough food for a feast. Korra sits on the neat floors, surrounding by familiar faces and lively chatter and the warm ambiance of loved ones. There is a large square table in the center. Katara, Tenzin, Pema on one side, sipping daintily from blue and white bowls filled with five-flavored soup and pickled fish. The kids are squared away at the side table. Her parents and Lin sit near the sturdy walls off the kitchen. Across the way, Bolin is attempting to get Asami to try the blubbered seal jerky, a Watertribe favorite, but the attempt doesn't look so successful. And next to Korra, _always_ next to her, she realizes, is Mako. His hand drops to cover hers in the middle of dinner, and something inside of her unknots just because she feels so bittersweet and strangely nostalgic for the moment, like it’ll pass by too quickly, like she needs to savor it before it slips through her fingers. 

Every one she loves is here, right here, and she knows it won’t always be like that.

* * *

“It’s cold, so, so,  _soooo_  very cold,” Bolin mumbles.

“Pass me the mittens, would you?” Mako asks him.

Korra rolls her eyes. “Oh, c’mon guys. It’s not that bad!”

Bolin’s eyes widen as he gestures wildly. “It’s  _freezing_ , Korra. I think it’s been over a day since I felt my toes and I’m just too scared to look to see if they’re still there! I’m gonna have to carry around hammers and chisels just to get out of my parka! It’s—”

“Cold,” Mako cut in, rolling his eyes. “We get it, bro. Why don’t you sit closer to the fire?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Bolin harrumphs. “One of the good things about being a firebender rather than an earthbender, I suppose. What’s that saying? Give a man a fire, he's warm for a day. Set a man on fire, he's warm for the rest of his life.”

“That’s not the saying, Bolin.”

“Yeah? Well, it makes sense if you think about. Hey, Korra, settle a debate for us, would you? Which is better? Firebending or earthbending?”

“Oh, no,” Korra says, raising a hand. “Not even touching that one with a ten foot pole. Both elements have their benefits and I can’t choose—”

“Lame!” Bolin cuts in. “Don’t give us the diplomatic answer. Give us the real dirt. Firebending, or awesome Earthbending? Which is it?”

“Firebending,” Mako cuts in, in a knowing tone. “Korra always goes for firebending when fighting.”

“Not always,” Korra corrects, though a part of her is dubious because that is her first instinct and she’s a little surprised that Mako has noticed this. But it isn’t always about fighting or fire power, and besides, she’s kicked plenty of Equalists with earthbending too. “It’s just… it’s like asking which one is your favorite child, and I haven’t even felt my way around airbending yet. I’m still learning. I’m still learning a lot.”

The conversation continues for a few minutes before it descends into this entertaining ones-upmanship between the brothers. Korra studies the byplay. It’s endlessly fascinating, mostly because Bolin prides himself on being unpredictable and Mako  _handles_  him without Bolin apparently even realizing it. It's a dance, a relationship that seems so effortless but Korra knows it’s not. It's definitely not as complex as the bond between Tenzin and his older brother but it's infinitely more amusing.

Eventually, Bolin moves the large rock right out from under Mako so that he falls flat on his behind. “Admit it,” Bolin crows. “Earthbending is the coolest of all bending!” Mako spits out a burst of fire that almost catches the fringes of Bolin’s hair, which causes him to yelp, scandalized, “Not the hair!”

It descends, predictably, into outright roughhousing. Ultimately when Bolin has Mako trapped in a headlock, Korra calls out from the sidelines, “Hey, don’t detach his head from his body. I like the way he looks."

Mako lifts his head and raises an eyebrow, and Korra just grins back, unabashed.

Bolin releases his brother with a push in her general direction. “Oh, man, I’m gonna have to get used to you guys being all mushy and couple-y with each other from now on, aren’t I?” He shudders, overdramatic. “Ew.”

* * *

“This technique is called the Breath of Wind,” Tenzin informs. “Very similar to the standard air blade, but created from the mouth and lungs. It requires extremely good breath control to employ effectively. The narrow jets can strike targets as small as insects, or you can even attempt large gale force gusts capable of cooling magma into solidified rock.”

He leads her through the steps of constant movement. Continuous coiling and recoiling, swift footwork, light as air itself, followed by open-handed thrusts of palms and a small quirk at the elbow. She mimics Tenzin’s directional shifts of air currents, then feels her lungs expand and the air flow through her almost like an extension of her body; it hits the small target across the field with a burst of air. Precision accuracy.

“Good, good,” Tenzin says, pleased.

She feels pride swell inside her. 

* * *

“Oh, hey Asami, didn’t see you there. I was just going to the kitchen to see if there was anyfoodmaybeyouwannjoinorsomething?” 

This is, sadly, the most graceful Korra has been around Asami lately.

“Thanks,” Asami replies, taking pity on Korra with a kind voice, “But I’ll think I’ll pass. Feeling a bit tired today.”

* * *

Korra is always being watched by Lotus Guards whenever she’s with Mako, like watched-with-hawk-eyes type of watched. She notices it absently at first, assuming it’s the same overprotective attitude that has suddenly besieged a great many number of her elders; these guards have known Korra practically all her life, and even though she's physically taken each and every single one of them down in more than a few training practices, some of them will forever brand Korra as an overgrown kid. (She'd claim she has no idea where they got that idea, but not even Korra can say that with a straight face.) Anyway, it's annoying, but Korra doesn't really think anything of it.

Until, it turns out, her assumption isn't the case at all.

“Your father told them to keep an eye on me,” Make informs, sheepishly.

Of all the things she'd thought he'd say when he snuck into her room that night, that was nowhere on the list. _“What?”_ she asks, incredulous.

“It’s fine,” Mako adds, quickly. “It’s just –he’s heard things. About, y’know, Asami and me—it’s made the rounds of gossip here, apparently.”

“Hey, that’s between you and me and— Asami,” she winces. “That’s none of anyone else’s business.”

“It's fine,” Mako insists, probably because he can sense her winding up. “Besides, it's not like they don't have a point." He gestures between them, implying the clandestine meeting in the middle of the night and all it entails. “You can't really blame a father for being over-protective.”

She completely misses the wistful undercurrent of Mako's voice, like paternal concern is something he can only imagine, instead thinking, _oh, yes I can._ Despite the late night visits, Mako more often than not just holds her while she falls asleep, serving as a warm comfort to Korra while she rides out a few persistent nightmares about Amon and her bending. The unfamiliar intimacy of being held like that, careful, yet sturdy — it's something Korra shamelessly indulges in. It hasn't gone anything beyond that, even during that one time when Korra had sorta, kinda, _tried_ to start something. The make-out session had ended before it had began, though, leaving Korra to linger in quiet insecurity, like maybe her inexperience with boys was off-putting, or that he was thinking of Asami (she _bets_ Asami had been a great kisser). Her more charitable reasoning includes the idea that maybe Mako just wants to go slow, or not rush her into anything she isn't comfortable with.

Now, she suspects, a part of it had been the overhanging threat of armed guards and her _father._ She's so angry at her father in that moment that she wants to storm down the hall that instant and confront him.

Mako grabs her hand and forces her to stay seated, soothing her impulse with a few calming words, so instead, she spends the next half-hour fuming silently instead of loudly. (And no matter what Mako claims, she is not pouting, and it is _not_ adorable.) She thinks about what people must be saying about Mako behind his back, and the anger just rises. She hasn’t been totally clueless. She hates gossip, but it’s always traveled faster than the speed of light among tribe members. The god-awful love triangle is, of course, well-known; she maybe thinks Bolin and his mouth have something to do with that. But Korra has thought about what a relationship with Mako will entail and what it could cost. She's thought about it  _a lot_ , and she's come to the conclusion that she doesn't give a damn what the rest of the world thinks. She loves him, and he loves her. And it’s just like Pema said.  _Watching my soul mate spend his life with the wrong woman became too painful._  She hates, hates,  _hates_  that Asami was hurt, but nothing will ever make Korra think loving Mako is wrong.

“Dad,” she later whines to him the next day, turning red in the face. “You’re being  _ridiculous_. I love him, so you should like him too.”

“Yeah,” her father tells her, deadpan. “That’s usually how this whole father-daughter-boyfriend relationship thing works out. Look, Korra, I like the lad well enough. It’s just – aren’t you awfully  _young_ —”

“I’m seventeen!”

“Exactly! You’re only seventeen! And you’re the Avatar. You’ve got enough on your plate without adding a boy to the picture—” The moment is interrupted by someone else’s sharp laughter, and both of them turn to find Katara in the corner. “Master Katara?” her father asks, worriedly.

“On, no,” Katara says, amused, “I was just thinking about how young I was when Avatar Aang fell in love with me, but please, continue.” 

Her father’s mouth hangs open, struggling to come with a response, then quickly finds an excuse to leave the conversation before the combined forces of Korra’s glare and Karata’s amusement sets something on fire. “Thanks for that,” Korra says to her. “So, I take it at least you approve of Mako?”

“In fact, I was just thinking,” Katara confides, “it’s funny how the Avatar naturally gravitates towards the one person that balances out their nature. Aang was very young when we first met, and very free-spirited. Mako has the same calming effect on you that I did on him.”

Korra grows warm in the face. Being compared to Avatar Aang is an old hat for Korra, but this is one comparison that she maybe likes the best. 

* * *

She may be the Avatar, but Korra knows that she still has  _a lot_  to learn. Watching Lin perform seismic sensory is always a nice swift reminder of that. Korra watches her unabashedly during their break in the South, while Lin practices and reacquaints herself with the snow-covered dirt, proving as tough and uncompromising as the earth itself. It’s so  _cool_. 

“Hey,” Lin calls out, startling Korra one day. “You just gonna stand there and gawk, or are you going to at least challenge me to a duel?”

Korra feels a smile spreading across her lips. “Don’t know,” she mocks. “I’ve always been told it’s bad form to hit a senior citizen.”

Lin’s eyes narrow. “You’ll pay for that remark.”

Korra saunters over, all bravado. “Yeah, yeah. You’re gonna have to catch me, first.”

(She does.  _Ouch_.)

* * *

It’s a two-day journey back to Republic City, and the ship is already docked at the harbor. 

She says her goodbyes properly this time. Hugs her parents, kisses Katara on the cheek, even waves from a distance to the White Lotus guards who've watched over her since she was yay-high. In fact, the entire village is off to see her when she makes her way across the long stretch of virgin snow outside the compound gates. They all stand in rows and applaud, and even though Korra doesn’t think she’s done anything to deserve it, she feels her chest expand with warmth and smiles back openly. 

“Ready?” Tenzin asks her. 

* * *

Okay, so apparently she shouldn't have bothered worrying about whether Mako was interested or not, because the moment the compound is miles behind them, Korra and Mako can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves anymore. It’s only the first night of the journey back, and once they’re inside her quarters, his hands are all over her, cupping her face, tangled in her hair, sliding down her back to pull her close. She steers them towards the bed without even thinking about it, and then Mako is heavy on top of her, solid and warm. They've slept together already, only in the literal terms of _sleeping_ , but making-out is a whole new thing that Korra doesn't want to screw up. She kisses him, slipping her tongue into his mouth as she flips them over, claiming her position on top with a giggle. But the amusement quickly dies when he traces his fingers down her abdomen, and her body grows warm in a way that feels like firebending from the inside, warm and building, heat without smoke or flames, and she can't silence a moan. His mouth opens, panting and pressed against her neck, sucking bruises into her throat that she won't be able to explain away unless she steals his scarf to cover them up.

“I thought we’d never be alone,” Mako murmurs in a frustrated groan. “Spirits, the last week has been  _torture._ ”

She’d laugh at that, but she’s a bit preoccupied. He moves to nuzzle her ear, and oh—she never pegged him as the nuzzling type, but then she decides it's completely in-character for him to be attentive and slow, even teasing, but the thought is quickly derailed when his hands rest against the ridge of her hips and Korra desperately needs more contact.

“What?” she asks, panting, to an indefinable look he gives her.

“I love you,” he says, apropos of nothing. Well, okay, maybe it’s not entirely out of the blue, because she supposes making out is a good time to be saying romantic stuff like that, but mostly Korra just wants to see him shirtless. They’ve already done declarations of sentiment a dozen and one times, and she’s looking for a little more action and little less talk.

“That’s sweet,” she tells him. 

Then kisses him to shut him up. 

* * *

She slips up, just once, the next night after Mako goes back to his bunk space in the room he shares with Bolin. (Pema had a talk with her about Tenzin's late night fretting, because the sleeping arrangements between Mako and Korra have become too obvious to ignore, and the last thing Korra wants is to have a conversation about propriety or sex with _Tenzin_ , so she agrees to be more level-headed (read: discreet) about where Mako can spend the night.) So, well after midnight when she finds herself restless and wide-awake, she wanders through the ship and quickly stumbles upon the war room. It's empty, and bereft of almost everything except the strategic maps of Republic City that Tenzin and the others left out, where blocks of Equalist strongholds are all highlighted in red. Bumi’s men have taken back most of the city, but there are still small pockets of resistance. Korra stares at the outline near the waters where the Air Temple is drawn in greens and blues and that horrible, horrible red; she hates that it was ever Amon’s territory. She runs her fingers lightly across the map, then over the keys of the telegraph that sits idly in the corner.

It’s been nine days, and they haven’t heard a thing about Amon – or Tarlock, for that matter. Korra doesn’t know what to think of that. Nine days, and suddenly Korra feels like she's crashing back to reality or coming down from a high, because while her outlook on the future seemed infinitely brighter in the South, returning to Republic City inspires a whole host of warring emotions. She thinks about how everyone is still waiting on her to make everything better, to know what to do, to fix deep-rooted problems; that weight feels almost suffocating, too heavy for her to handle. Her chest feels tight, and suddenly Korra is _heaving_ , back sliding down the wall, knees braced against her chest, and the effort to catch her breath is like a battle to breathe underwater.

She doesn't know how long she stays like that, but it's long enough to feel tears stream down her face and a sense of panic to build, hold and finally fall. In the aftermath, she feels drained, like she ran miles and performed every major feat of bending wonder back-to-back, and it's General Iroh who finds her like that, to her horror.

He stumbles in like he’s a thief caught red-handed, frozen in the doorway and it’s all Korra can do to quickly wipe the wet streaks off her face quickly and turn away. “Hey,” she manages, trying for normal and coming out hoarse. “Sorry, I just – I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“No, no,” Iroh says, sounding just as thrown. “I should’ve knocked or—”

“Don’t be silly. This is your ship—”

“Yes, well—” he can’t think of anything to counter to that, and he grows a little red in the face because of it.

“It’s all right,” she tells him one more time. “I’m fine.”

They stand there, facing each other, in utter silence for a very, very long beat. Eventually, because it’s obvious Iroh came here for a reason and it’d be awkward to leave abruptly, he steps into the room. Korra tries to find her equilibrium again, but it’s been kicked off-kilter like she’d been sitting on a three-pronged chair where one leg is just half an inch shorter than the other two. 

Iroh goes to gather up one of the maps, scrolling it up into a tube. She watches him move around with compact grace, no motion wasted, no hair out of place. Even this late at night, he looks ready for action and Korra thinks the only person who always looks so well-put together all the time is Asami. She has no idea what to make of him. He’s so young, barely older than she is, and already he has a position that makes men three times his age salute. It’s part birthright, but more than that. She’s seen what Iroh can do firsthand, and his talent is undeniable. Korra is starting to understand that the way he dresses, the way he  _is_ , so refined, is more than just how he was raised as royalty. It might just be Iroh asserting control, keeping himself in check when war can be so unordered. 

He looks up from where he's working, notes her scrutiny but doesn't overtly react to it. Instead he goes back to what he was doing. “You know,” he says, lightly. “My Grandfather used to tell me a lot about his time with Avatar Aang. I spent my childhood raised on those stories.”

“Yeah?” she says, because it isn’t the first or thousandth time that someone has told her of Aang, but she’s always endlessly fascinated by any tidbits or tales she can get. “What did he say?”

“That Aang was smart, and brave – but he was just a kid when he took on Firelord Ozai. He was overwhelmed and rudderless for a lot of that time.”

Korra stays quiet, because even though she knows the story, to her, Aang has always been this strange guiding presence and she can’t equate that to a twelve-year-old boy who doesn’t know what he’s doing. She  _knows_  better, but Aang has always been a hard act to follow.

“If my Grandfather were here,” Iroh tells her, “he’d try to quote something wise, but I’m afraid that he never really got the hang of sage proverbs. The best he came up with was, once,  _Remember the tea kettle, though up to its neck in hot water, continues to sing._ ”

Korra makes a face. “You, uh, learned a lot from your grandfather,” she notes, diplomatically.

He shrugs a bit. “We all live in the shadow of somebody. At least we two have someone great to live up to.”

Her mind flashes to Amon –  _Noatok_ , and Tarlock, and their father, Yakone. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, soberly, with an unpleasant swallow. 

* * *

“I’m scared,” she tells Mako, because he’s the only one she can. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are,” he answers, firmly. “And I’ll always be here beside you, no matter what.”

And she wants to believe him on both counts so, so badly. 

Life isn’t about getting what she wants, though. Korra knows that better than most.

* * *

She tries not to let her thoughts stand out when she watches Mako duel against Iroh in a friendly firebending match out on the upper deck of the ship, but Korra gets uncomfortably warm in the face when they remove their shirts. It doesn’t escape her notice that Mako gets extra competitive when he catches Korra eying Iroh after the first set, but then again, seeing Mako all intense and competitive is the first thing that attracted her to him anyway.

“Oh,” Pema says, appreciatively, when she stumbles upon the match mid-afternoon. She tosses Korra a knowing look as she sits down on the bench; not for the first time, Korra thinks there is a bit of a wild spirit in the older woman, just hidden beneath the polite exterior. “It  _is_  such a hot day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Korra agrees, blushing, and returns her gaze back to the firematch. After a beat, she grins even wider. “Okay,” she hollers out to the boys, declaring, “I get to take on the winner of the next match!”

“Atta, girl,” Pema approves softly, under her breath.

* * *

Mako touches her knee, and she turns too slow. "Korra?" he asks. 

Her face is too pale, she knows, eyes too wide and telling, but then again he's seen her worse. She smiles and he smiles back, and even if hers is all false bravado, his makes her feel better. He leans forward to kiss her in reassurance, always so  _delicately_  at first, like he's afraid she's going to vanish in front of him if he pushes too hard. He always starts out that way, at least up until the moment when Korra pushes forward aggressively or does something like drag her nails across his scalp, trying to let him know that this is real, that this is  _happening_ ; she doesn’t have the luxury of that right now, an audience that includes Tenzin nearby, but a part of her wants to sink into this moment. 

Sometimes it feels like Mako is still operating on the edges of wonderment, still not quite sure that this is really happening. Funny, because she thought she’d be the one to feel that way when they finally got together. 

(She always knew they would; it was only a matter of time.) 

A lieutenant interrupts, appearing in the doorway, and stands crisply at attention. "Avatar Korra,” he says, respectfully. “Welcome back to Republic City."

They file out one by one, and Korra breathes a sigh of relief she hadn’t even been aware she was holding in, because there is no massive fanfare to greet her outside. They descend the ship in pairs down the ramp and Mako is silent beside her. The dock is completely deserted except for a small welcoming party that includes only four guards. 

On their way back to Tenzin’s home, the lieutenant gives her the explanation, “Your arrival is actually a well-guarded secret. We’re still weeding out pockets of Equalist resistance, and Commander Bumi didn't want to entice them with a target like your return. But fret not, the city is ours again. When Amon was chased away, the Equalists abandoned most posts to fortify only a few places within the city. It was a two day skirmish to take back Air Temple Island. In the end, without Amon's leadership it proved too much for them. And Commander Bumi is a genius on the field. The Republic fleets began to use more than just basic tactics. Feints, counterattacks, mass deceptions to misinform the Equalist forces. It was truly impressive—” 

“Now, now,” a voice booms, cutting in. “Enough of that! Let me give my brother a good hug hello first!”

Korra turns to find Tenzin caught in a bear-hug by his older brother, a man that is a full half-foot smaller than Tenzin but still somehow manages to lift Tenzin clear off the ground anyway. For his part, Tenzin looks resigned to the hug rather than a willing participant. When Tenzin is finally set back on the floor, Korra watches with some amusement as Bumi is tackled by each one of his nieces and eldest nephew, handling the chaos of the children with aplomb and affection that few others can match.

Finally, Bumi turns to Korra. She smiles back, widely; the last time they met – the first time they met – she had been too devastated by the loss of her abilities to truly pay proper respect and attention to Bumi. Now, he seems larger than life, standing in front of her with wild hair that would do Gummu, her homeless friend, quiet proud.

“An honor to met you again, Commander Bumi.”

“Wow," he returns with a laugh. "You're not going to be that formal, are you? You're the reincarnation of my father! That makes you family, and you know how you greet family?”

Before she can respond, she's already wrapped up in a bear hug.


	2. 火烈 - Fire is Fierce

* * *

> 火烈 - Fire is Fierce

 

The line stretches far back into the void, just like she knew it would.  
  
Seven of Lin’s metalbending police officers are first, but from where she stands, Korra can see it’s a long waiting list full of random citizens, a curious range of both familiar and unfamiliar faces from all walks of life. Members of the White Falls Wolfbats, Agni Kai Triad members standing within arms reach of their rivals from the Triple Threat Triad, the cook she once met at Kuang's Cuisine, the local teashop owner who used his firebending to make the best tea, the Cabbage Corp CEO, bums, merchants, sailors – the line seems never ending. She greets them all individually as they approach her – criminals, law-abiding citizens, law enforcement – all alike. When she faces Lighting Bolt Zolt, the first man she’d ever seen Amon take bending from all those months ago in that Equalist rally, she hesitates. But whether or not she likes him or condones his way of life, Amon took away his bending and Korra has resolved to give it all back.   
  
By midafternoon of that first day, Korra is already exhausted enough to feel herself getting woozy. But one last familiar face in the crowd gives her the courage to forge ahead.  
  
“Hello, Uh-atar,” Tahno greets, with a smile.  
  
She notes, with some amusement, that his hair is neatly combed. “Dressed up for the occasion, I see?” she teases.  
  
“Oh, y’know, always do for a lady.”  
  
She snorts loudly. “Are you referring to me as a lady? Man, you must really want your bending back.”  
  
He sighs heavily. “The things I do sometimes even shock me,” he admits, then does a dramatic shudder.  
  
She laughs, because it’s better to see him back to his old arrogant self, even if she can clearly see the cracks around the edges. It's no secret she never liked Tahno during the pro-bending matches, so full of himself and preening, but she feels like she understands him better now that she’s seen through his veneer of arrogance. She remembers the bleakness of his eyes, the one that broke her heart – she doesn't like pitying him, and hates that she allowed a world to arise where she was left with no other option.   
  
She knows how much bending means to him, practically his whole identity; Korra can relate to that, perhaps a bit too much.  
  
“This might not be as awe-inspiring and showy as the rumors make it out to seem,” she warns him.  
  
He shrugs. “At this point, if you have to light my ass on fire to give me back my waterbending, I’d be willing to endure the spectacle.”  
  
“Ew,” Korra remarks, scrunching up her nose. “Thankfully, no.”  
  
He kneels in front of her without instruction; in another life, she knows how much that would have cost him. Korra takes a deep breath, because she isn’t blowing false modesty in his face. She honestly isn’t sure she has enough energy left in her to do this again today, but then her mind clears of doubt – clears of pain, disbelief, fear – and the edge of consciousness expand outwards, engulfing. When she opens her eyes again and places her thumb and forefinger on Tahno’s forehead, it is not Korra that moves, but the Avatar. All the Avatars, as one.  
  
When it’s over, there is dead silence.   
  
“I don’t know,” Tahno breathes, sounding shaken and awed. “I think I’d call that the best showmanship I’ve ever seen.”  
  


* * *

  
  
She closes her eyes as she shifts a little, tucking her head against Mako’s chest, feeling the weight of his breathing support hers as she leans against him; for a moment she wonders if this isn’t going to turn into another round of making out, which – she really isn’t opposed to, but Spirits Above, she’s  _tired._  A week of restoring people's bending abilities, with stops for rests in-between, and the list has finally dwindled down into a handful that she'll finish off tomorrow. It's been taxing. But that's concerns for tomorrow. Right now, she's with Mako and when she feels him inhale deeply, exhale slowly, and curl his arm around her tighter, she knows he won’t be starting anything because Mako can be freakishly overprotective of her sometimes. She's finding that he can read her moods like she’s an open book ( _you’re not that hard to figure out, Korra,_  he teases).  
  
She lets her mind go blank. He slides his hands down her sides and she sighs audibly when he begins massaging her lower back. “Oh, Mako,” she breathes out. “Seriously, if pro-bending doesn’t work out for you, you’ve got a career in the masseuse business.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Forget your looks and your firebending, I’ve just discovered the number one reason to date you right here.”  
  
“And here I thought we had something real.”  
  
“It’s real, all right. The dexterity of a man’s fingers are very important in a relationship.” She stops, replaying her words, and realizes Mako has stilled his ministrations, laughing quietly. “That came out a lot more dirty-sounding than I expected,” she remarks.  
  
He can hear the amusement and smile in his voice, “Only  _you_ , Korra.”  
  
“Only me, what?”  
  
“Only you could mean something innocent and come out—”  
  
“I’m not innocent!” she defends herself, even though of the two of them, it’s obvious that she’s far more inexperienced. But what she lacks in experience, she likes to think she makes up for in enthusiasm. “Ugh,” she mumbles, sagging a little. “I’ll defend myself later when I have the energy. Right now I can barely keep my eyes open. But just know, buster, that I can be as wanton as I want. Need I remind you that I kissed you first?”  
  
“No reminder necessary,” Mako assuages, though he’s laughing; she loves that sound from him, and how easily lately she can tug it from his lips – like so many other responses. (She really  _isn’t_  innocent.) “Your virtue – or lack thereof – needs no explanation with me.”  
  
“Oh, ha ha,” she mumbles, and swats a hand absentmindedly at him. After a few more minutes, when she’s a few seconds away from slipping into the heavenly oblivion of sleep, she says, “I love you, you know?”  
  
His voice is soft in her ear, “I love you, too. Now relax. I haven’t even warmed you up yet.”  
  
It’s half innuendo, and if Korra were in any coherent state of mind, she’d call him on it. As it is, she merely moans a vague acknowledgement and closes her eyes, and within minutes, she’s fast asleep.   
  


* * *

  
  
She just wants things to be right with Asami.   
  
That’s the only way she can put it. But when she runs into her only female friend (not including people related or associated to Tenzin, half of whom are all under the age of ten) on the busy streets off downtown, she feels very suddenly like maybe that’s the furthest thing possible in the world. They’ve made small talk with one another a million times. All they ever  _do_  now is make small talk. But Korra can’t do it anymore. Won’t. Doesn’t want to. She’s the Avatar. She can fix this.  
  
On the steps of City Hall, she tilts her head down towards Asami and asks, “So. I heard you’re going to be running Future Industries now?”  
  
Then winces, embarrassed by how the words come out. She’d somehow forgotten to even say hi.  
  
Asami hesitates. “Yeah. My father always said I had a head for numbers. Then again, I’m not sure how much stock to put in that.”  
  
“You’ll be great at it,” Korra spits out. “I’m mean, you’re  _you_ , right?”  
  
Asami blinks. “What?”  
  
“Just—you know, you’re capable. You’re like the most capable person I know. Strong, and smart and kick ass and pretty and resourceful and—” the list grows in her head but Korra realizes she should stop, should slow down before she really starts rambling and she’s done that too many times with Asami lately. She doesn’t want this to sound like false flattery, because it really is what Korra thinks. “—anyway,” she finishes, clearing her throat, “I think you can do anything you want.”  
  
A slow smile spreads across Asami’s lips, small, but indulgent. “Long way from prissy,” she remarks, not unkindly.  
  
Korra flushes a little. “I know you better now. Anyway, you’ll do fine.”   
  
Asami pauses. “Thanks, Korra. That means a lot coming from you.”  
  
“No problem.”  
  
They have to go their separate ways. Korra has a meeting with the counsel, and she doesn’t know what Asami has to do but she’s sure it’s important. They stand awkwardly halfway up the stairs, before nodding to one another and turning, one going up and the other headed down.   
  
“Hey, Korra,” Asami calls out, just at the last second as Korra is about to enter the building. “We should get lunch sometime. If you’re free?”  
  
The gust of air that leaves Korra’s lungs is a little ridiculous, but welcomed. “I’d like that.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“I’ll take my badge back now, Chief Shortstuff.”  
  
Yes, those are _literally_ the words that come out of Lin's mouth, but it's only muttered under her breath and Korra knows it's by far the most innocuous of names Lin could have called Saikhan. Korra rests her chin in her hand and surveys the scene before her, watching Lin accept the duty and stand beside the podium. Behind her is the large stone statue of Toph Beifong. Korra thinks it’s perfect place for the press conference, reminding people of the history and roots of the police force in this city. Lin looks only briefly once towards the statute during the entire junket, but it’s a pointed look, face upturned and expression inscrutable. Korra understands the struggle to find peace and purpose in the shadow of legend like that. It molds a person, which, given Lin’s lifestyle choices, is only entirely apparent. The training she must’ve received as a child under her mother’s tutelage has obviously been put to good use as her role as the Chief of Police.   
  
“So,” Bumi boasts afterwards, clapping his hands together in excitement. “Who wants to celebrate?”  
  
“I have work to do, Bumi,” Lin remarks, wryly. “I did just get my job back, and who knows what mess Saikhan has left in his wake.”  
  
“Oh, c’mon! There should be a party! Dancing! Festivities!”  
  
Tenzin comes to stand beside Lin, and the two of them make quite a severe pair, both disapproving. Bumi rolls his eyes and turns to Korra with a dramatic shudder. “Brr. Cold wind, yeah?”  
  


* * *

  
  
The radio blasts a stream of bad news.   
  
Fifteen days after her return, a group of firebenders have been caught feuding with a block of known Eqaulist sympathizers, and it's gotten bad – one dead, a dozen wounded, with a high level of destruction to a middle-class residential neighborhood; a regiment of the Republic Forces had to step in, but Korra feels like she should have been informed immediately. It doesn’t seem to matter that she can’t quell any of the dissent, it seems like she should at least  _try_. There is hostility from every direction. Citizens against citizens, neighbors against neighbors – which is, Korra realizes, expected after Republic City nearly tore itself apart from the inside. Amon may be gone for the time being, but they’ll be cleaning up after him for a long while.   
  
If that isn’t bad enough, Korra knows that there is internal strife among leaders as well. Tenzin wants Bumi to relinquish his hold on the trading routes so that the city can reestablish its market and get things back to normal, but Bumi is hesitant because fears of Equalist sympathizers smuggling in supplies could thwart the security of the city. Hiroshi Sato is still on the loose, and he’s known to have many connections throughout the nations. For the time-being, he is high up on the list of Most Wanted Criminals.   
  
And as Tenzin puts it, internal strife only augments external politics. The people are distrustful of the Counsel ever since Tarlock’s story came out, broadcast in a juicy exposé over the radio by a journalist who only knew half the story; Korra finds herself wanting to defend Tarlock, and isn’t that crazy? When she starts to voice the thought with Tenzin and Lin, she receives only looks of stark disbelief, but that's nothing in comparison to the shocking reaction she gets out of Mako. She thought he'd be the only one who could understood her strange sympathy to Tarlock because he heard the sad tale of the two brothers alongside her. It's the farthest thing from the truth, however. ( _“He tortured and kidnapped you, Korra,”_ Mako told her, jaw jetting out in stubbornness. _“His childhood may have been horrible, but so were a lot of people's. Trust me, that's no excuse for the things he did. The man almost killed you. There's nothing forgivable about that.”_ ) Korra knows nothing justifies what Tarlock did, but wherever he is, she doesn’t wish him ill anymore. She hopes he finds peace.  
  
But now the locals are paranoid and complaining that the city’s leaders have been hiding vital information. Malcontent and rumors grow, along with accusations that the Counsel is financing a military government disguised under the ruse of security. Tenzin’s responded to the paranoia, but the masses are still in a panic and it’s as hard to undo as unringing a bell.  
  
The entire time, Korra knows the Avatar could quell the anxiety,  _should_  be able to, but public speaking has never been her forte. When she makes any announcement, half the people in the audience  _boo_  at her. The other half just stand there, hopeful and reverent, and she feels like she’s letting every single one of them down.  
  
As rapid as everything feels like it’s falling apart, some things don’t change.   
  
She still has no idea what she’s doing.  
  


* * *

  
  
The moment Korra opens the door, she knows that something is wrong. There's fresh dirt scuffed into the carpet and a picture knocked crooked on the wall. Someone's been in her room. She has a second to react before a figure comes hurdling at her from behind, and Korra turns, uses the momentum of her attacker against him and vaults him into the air with a puff of wind she bends into a blast. Her assailant is an Equalist, fully suited with an electrified glove. She dodges a blast and grabs his arm, twisting at the wrist. The Equalist strikes out his foot, snagging Korra by the ankle but she just rolls into a dive and comes back up on her legs.  
  
“This isn’t over, Avatar,” he warns her, before jumping out the open window.  
  
She rushes over to spy the small dart he makes in the splash of ocean water below, and she’s about to follow when she hears Pema screaming from inside and realizes there are other invaders.  
  
She takes off in a mad dash.  
  
(It is not the first Equalist attack on Air Temple Island. It won’t be the last.)  
  


* * *

  
  
“I don’t get it,” Korra fumes. “Why are there still people fighting us? Amon was a fraud—”  
  
“But his idea caught on like wildfire,” Bumi cuts in. “You can’t kill an idea, Korra. That’s what makes this so dangerous.”  
  
She’s tired, and sore, but half of her can still feel the lingering presence of adrenaline in her system and she knows it’d only take one jolt of a slamming door before Korra would feel her heart pounding again. She hates that as many times as she thinks she can make ends met, it seems like someone has already moved the ends. She wonders who the new leader is, and a small part of her panics at the idea of Amon reemerging before she comforts herself with the rationale that he wouldn’t be able to get the same supporters to follow him again. Not after his true identity was revealed.  
  
“They're not going to make this easy,” Bumi informs. “They believe in a cause, and they're willing to die for that.”  
  
“They're fools,” Korra snarls, frustrated.  
  
“Korra,” Bumi says, softly, and sits down next to her. The usual animation on his face drains, suddenly tense for a man that always has a joke on his lips. “I don’t think you get what’s happening here. This isn’t war. It’s a citywide riot. Longer than usual, sometimes confined, sometimes silent – but it’s a riot.”  
  
“A riot?” Korra repeats, dubious.  
  
“And riots are civil disorder against a perceived grievance. It’s dissent, not anarchy like most presume.”  
  
Korra stares, incredulous. “They’re trying to take over the city again!”  
  
“They’re trying to _reform_ it,” Bumi corrects. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re going about it completely the wrong way. But take it from the only non-bender in an over-achieving and extraordinary family of benders. My father was the Avatar, my mother is the greatest known healer and waterbender, my sister leads the Northern Water Tribe and my brother is heir to an entire bending bloodline. And then there’s _me_. You know, I was twelve years old before I finally gave up on the dream of being a bender. I had my Uncle Sokka to help me get through a lot of my hang ups, but it was still a tough break.”  
  
She’s never really thought about it, before. How difficult it must’ve have been for Bumi to grow up without any bending abilities; he’s always seemed like a great man with a strong presence who wouldn’t feel inadequate about _anything_. And her sympathies have always favored Tenzin and the heavy burden of carrying on Aang’s airbending legacy.  
  
“I never really thought about that,” she confides.  
  
“And that,” Bumi remarks, “is kinda indicative, don’t you think? You know what they say? Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them,” he suddenly grins, shattering the tense moment, “you're a mile away and you have their shoes! No, but seriously,” he sobers. “You should really look into what the Equalist are saying. It isn’t all baloney.”  
  


* * *

The next few days pass without incident, and it's that quiet part of the very middle of the night, and all Korra can hear is the lapping of water against the shore while Mako points out stars to her. The night starts out because Korra decides to make up names for the stars rather than learn the real ones, and somehow half an hour later they've descended into spiels of laughter and foolish merriment. It's the first time she's relaxed in nearly a week. She points to a cluster of stars and names it after Naga, because it looks vaguely like the outline of an animal with a large back, except maybe it has an extra limb or something — but then the night sobers when Mako points out the biggest, brightest star on the horizon, and christens it _Korra_. She blushes bright red, inordinately flattered, because Mako is so surprisingly _romantic_ about some things, and she doesn't always know how to respond to that. She snuggles closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder and staring at her new namesake with a foolish smile on her lips.  
  
She looks across the ocean to the city, and sighs. “Hey, Mako?”  
  
“What?”  
  
The first time Korra saw Republic City, the lights of the Pro-bending Arena had captured her undivided attention. Now the view is partially retailored, the arena still under heavy reconstruction, but she smiles at it in fondness nonetheless.  
  
“Do you miss it? Living in the city? The apartment you had above the arena was actually pretty nice.”  
  
“No,” Mako answers, flatly.  
  
She looks up at him. “Not even a little?” That’s surprising, because his accommodations at the Air Temple Island are modest at best. And it’s been an adjustment for both boys in a number of other ways; getting up at the crack of dawn with all the air acolytes on the island has been an ongoing trial for Bolin, especially. “At least there you had privacy and independence.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But I didn’t have _you._ ”  
  


* * *

  
  
Bolin hollers with glee. “You hear that amazing sound in the distance?”  
  
“What sound?”  
  
“That is the sound of awesome  _vic-tor-y_!”  
  
“I don’t hear anything, Bolin.”  
  
His face falls for a second. “Just—go with me, here. I’m doing a thing. I know there’s no sound but pretend like there is, and pretend like it’s awesome-sounding, because guess what? They’re giving us a rematch!”  
  
“A rematch?”  
  
“Fire Ferrets versus the Wolfbats, round two. Championship rematch!”  
  
Korra’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that was possible.”  
  
“It usually isn’t,” he exclaims excitedly, “but apparently the pro-bending franchise management got together after a petition started up. We’re playing the Wolfbats next month in the refurbished arena. Oh boy, I’m already planning out Pabu’s new outfit! I’m thinking about adding in a circus clown motif, but I’ve already got a ferret doing acrobatic moves so people may see that and think, _forgive me, sir, but that's just a bit too much._ "  
  
“That’s great! Not the thing with Pabu – I agree, the clown outfit might be a bit too much – but we’re getting a rematch? You hear that sound, Bolin?”  
  
“I do, indeed! It is the sound of—”  
  
 _“Vic-tor-y!”_  she exclaims with him, and they high-five each other. “Does Mako know?” she asks.  
  
“I’m on my way to tell him right now!” Bolin replies, out the door before she can get another word in.  
  
It isn’t until a full week later that she learns it was Tahno himself that insisted on the rematch.  
  


* * *

  
  
Iroh turns out to be a pro-bending fan, though she discovers it in a roundabout way.  
  
“I enjoy following the game,” he says demurely, but no one is buying the act thanks to Bumi boisterously announcing to the entire room full of people that Iroh wanted to be a pro-bending player since he was the age of seven.   
  
“You too?” Asami asks, laughing. "I loved listening to that stuff since I was old enough to turn on the radio."  
  
Korra is a bit fascinated by the redness spreading across Iroh's cheeks. “I outgrew it eventually," he tells Asami, clearing his throat, "but it _is_ a nice childhood memory."  
  
“He set several servants on fire,” Bumi adds.  
  
Tenzin tosses in, “His mother wasn’t amused.”  
  
Bumi rolls his eyes, but Lin cuts in before anyone else can get a word. “His mother was  _proud_ ,” Lin defends him. “And the kid had a mean left hook of firepower, even at seven.”  
  
Iroh looks like he wants to sink into the cushions and disappear, and Korra has a brief moment to reflect on how it must have been, growing up with such a colorful array of elders. Iroh attempts to recover, and it’s marginally successful when he says, “I’ll be cheering for the Fire Ferrets in the crowds.”  
  
Korra beams back at him. “I’ll be sure you get a good seat.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Afterwards, she stumbles upon Mako and Asami talking, and she hates it – absolutely hates _herself_  for it, but there's a spike of jealousy. They’re just talking, standing with a full foot of space between them, and Korra knows they have a lot to work out. She wants them to be friends. She wants Asami to be able to hang out with Team Avatar just like before – well, okay, maybe not  _just_  like before, since she doesn’t ever want to witness Mako giving Eskimo kisses to Asami ever again.  _Ugh._  But they all need to be friends.  
  
The concept, in theory, is awesome.  
  
Watching, paranoid and insecure, from the sidelines as Asami and Mako smile awkwardly and talk to one another?   
  
It’s proving to be less than awesome.  
  


* * *

  
  
“What an explosive second round!” the announcer shouts, though Korra can barely hear him over the rush of the cheering crowd and an encroaching earth-blast. “The Ferrets advance into Wolfbat territory and are holding nothing back, but this rematch is looking like it’s going to be neck and neck! It’s obvious the Wolfbats aren’t playing by the same rules as the last time. Which is to say, they’re finally playing by the  _game’s_  rules! Both teams seem evenly matched, and they’re bringing the heat. Literally, as Mako strikes out with a nice sprawl. Ula dodges, but Tahno counters with a splash of ice water – and bham! Korra takes a hit.”  
  
“What’s a matter, uh-vatar?” Tahno calls out, with a grin. “Can’t win against me in a fair fight?”  
  
“Oh, big talk from a guy who’s about to eat crow!” Korra tosses back, lifting her foot and swinging out to deliver an icy blast of water right to his face. He dodges, but it goes sailing past his shoulder and knocks one of his teammates back over the third boundary into the water below. “Oh, boo-ya!”  
  
The time runs out on the second round.   
  
“Nice one!” Mako calls out, hugging Korra, and Bolin gives her a high-five.   
  
Tahno tosses the two brothers a nasty smile, because even though he’s cooled his genuine aggression against Korra, it really hasn’t extended much towards her teammates. The feeling is completely mutual. Mako and Tahno choose positions directly opposite each other, even though it should be Korra that is facing the opposing waterbending, but it isn’t the first time during the match that Mako has gotten unusually defensive of her.   
  
Mako stands right in front of Korra like he’s planning on taking on any hits that come her way. “Is he always like this?” Tahno teases, sensing a tender spot of vulnerability. “Overcompensating for something, eh?”  
  
“Just making sure you don’t try any funny business,” Mako warns. “We all know your history.”  
  
Tahno tenses, and Korra feels like stepping in to stop this from escalating, which is just ridiculous because they’re in the middle of a pro-bending tournament and fighting is precisely what thousands of people have shown up to watch. “Trust me,” Tahno says, smoothly, “If I were trying any funny business with your girlfriend, I’m sure you’d be the last to know.”  
  
Mako’s face grows red, but Korra is more than a little annoyed herself by that comment and reacts before any of them. When the bell announces the start of a new round, she throws a jet of water across the center divide and knocks Tahno clean back over the edge and into the water below.   
  
“Sweet,” Bolin approves from the side.  
  
She tosses Mako a shrug, grinning widely.  
  


* * *

  
  
Fire Ferret Champions has a nice ring to it. All around them, everyone is screaming. Tahno shakes her hand and tells her to watch out for next year, but there’s this tilt to his head, a small lift in his lips, that makes Korra believe that maybe they could be friends instead of just so-called adversaries.   
  
“Congratulations,” Tenzin says as soon as he finds her, with a telling smile. “I know I wasn’t the most supportive when you said you wanted to try pro-bending, but it’s obvious it’s really taught you a lot. Even if you hadn’t won, just know I couldn’t be more prouder of you, Korra.”  
  
“Yeah, but admit it, it’s even better now that we’re champions!” Korra exclaims with a holler, laughing when the crowd around her erupts into cheers.   
  
Later that night, when they make it back to Air Temple Island, she’s surrounded by practically everyone she loves. Her parents ring her on the phone to send their love and she’s laughing and so giddy that she can barely hear them. The music is blaring loud, disrupting the normal quiet surroundings. Tenzin’s kids are running amuck, way past their bedtime. Tenzin is seated with his wife, his brother, and Lin, and they all sound like they’re trading a play-by-play of the match as if all four of them weren’t there watching it live. Bolin asks Asami for a dance, and Iroh cuts in, and Korra might’ve had a little too much celebratory wine because when Mako asks her to dance, she beams at him and forgets entirely to be embarrassed about her clumsy feet. It doesn’t matter, and she doesn’t care.  
  
She’s happy. Truly, genuinely happy.  
  
This is the life.  
  


* * *

  
  
“More Equalist attacks,” Tenzin informs, sedately.  
  
She opens the door and strides in alongside him, feeling the pit of her stomach cave in. Behind the curved wooden table of the Counsel is Bumi, going over a map; these days he's as much of a permanent fixture in city meetings as any of the official Counsel members. Lin is at his side and she nods curtly at Tenzin and Korra as they make their way across the room. The other three Counsel members, two of which are brand new, look varying degrees of scared to sick. Korra doesn’t really know what to make of the Counsel as a whole, but as long as Tenzin is in charge, she feels comfortable enough with their authority.  
  
“We must take action immediately,” Tenzin announces.   
  
“First, we need to make an announcement,” the woman in Firenation red jumps in. “We need to assure the masses that we have everything under control.”  
  
“First, we _need_ everything under control,” Tenzin counters, demurely.  
  


* * *

  
  
“You can have someone else do that, you know?” Korra tells Lin, winching. Getting things under control has, unsurprisingly, involved a decent amount of violence. “Or I could even heal it with water?”  
  
Lin is too busy to respond, thread between her teeth and needle between her fingers, sewing her skin back together. The wound is a nasty gash, and while it isn’t life-threatening, it isn’t particularly  _nice_  looking either.   
  
“It’s fine,” Lin insists, glancing up when Korra makes a gagging noise. “Oh, for crying out loud, don’t throw up. This isn’t open-heart surgery. It’s only a few stitches.”  
  
“Yes, but there’s hardcore and then there’s crazy. Don’t kill me if I say you’re bordering on that line right now, and it’s tipping in a bad way.”  
  
“You should actually try learning this. You’re not always going to have water nearby to heal. Basic first aid is necessary to know.”   
  
“Thanks, but I’m—”  
  
“Here,” Lin says, holding out the thread and needle. “You finish it.”  
  
Korra blanches. “Oh, really? I’m not the best with a thread. My mom once tried to make me knit her a sweater and we had to use it as cushioning for Naga’s saddle instead.”  
  
“Quit making excuses and get over here!”   
  
Korra finds she has no choice, unfortunately.   
  
"You know, kid, scars aren't always bad," Lin tells her. "They tell stories, remind us of who we are and where we've been. It reminds us of why we fight. You're not much like Aang. You've got more fight and aggression in you than he ever had in him, so it's something you should learn now. Get comfortable with your scars. They're going to be a part of who you are, and that's not something to be ashamed of."  
  


* * *

  
  
Weeks later and she has on Mako’s shirt, a bloodstain covering most of the left sleeve and a fist-size bruise on her right forearm. A woman in the streets lobbed a bottle at Korra today, because people are angry and upset that the Avatar isn’t protecting this city like she’s supposed to be doing. Korra feels furious at herself more than anyone else, because the public is right. She  _is_  failing.   
  
Mako comes to crowd behind her in the tiny space, thread and needle in hand. “Are you sure?” he asks, worriedly. He removes his scarf from her arm, and she winces – not because of the pain or the wound, but because his scarf is covered in her blood. She knows how much that scarf means to him and he used it on her like it’s a throwaway rag.  
  
She can say:  _Never mind. I can wait for water to heal it myself._  
  
She should say:  _It doesn’t hurt. You’re making a big deal out of nothing._  
  
She doesn’t say:  _This is about remembering what I owe these people._  
  
“Yeah,” she says, instead. “Give me the needle.”  
  


* * *

  
  
It's another one of those endless, hot afternoons when the heat is so thick it feels like it's going to suffocate her. Tenzin has her training out on the courtyard, exercise after exercise, and the sweat is just pouring off her. Finally, when she’s thirsty enough to seek out a break, she walks back over to one of the older buildings on the island to see if someone nearby will fetch her some melonjuice on ice.  _Spirits, that sounds good._  She’s halfway down the hall when a half-empty room packed with dusty boxes attracts her eye. She walks in, finding the room piled with old storage boxes, and toes open the nearest box to find a bunch of old junk. Antiques, possibly.   
  
There’s a small box of toys amongst them.   
  
Curiously, Korra finds herself drawn to it. Inside, she finds a clay turtle, a pull-string propeller, a wooden monkey, and a wooden hand drum. She feels strangely drawn to them, fascinated and a bit enthralled. In fact, she’s staring so intently at them that Tenzin’s voice behind her startles her. “I’d tell you not to touch those, but I suppose technically they’re yours anyway.”   
  
She whirls around, nearly dropping the clay turtle in her hands and it’s only a quick reflex of airbending that manages to save it from crashing to the floor. “Oh, Tenzin, hi,” she manages, red-faced. “I was just looking – didn’t see you there! I’ll just put these back. No harm, no foul—”  
  
“Those toys,” Tenzin says, amused. “They’re yours. Though I would appreciate it if you didn’t take that as permission to break them. They’re very old, and have some value to them.”  
  
“What do you mean, they’re mine?”  
  
“These were once the toys of previous Avatars. My father picked them out from amongst thousands of toys. It was how the air monks first realized he was the Avatar.”  
  
She drops her gaze back to the toy propeller, and – she does have an odd sort of affinity to it. Like nostalgia, or some other strange sense of déjà vu in which words hardly do any justice.   
  
“And this,” Tenzin says, reaching behind a high pile of boxes to pull out a long, thin wooden staff, “is my father’s last air glider. He had many over the years, but this was his favorite.”  
  
He holds it in his hands for a long moment, as if admiring the delicate craftsmanship, before holding it aloft for Korra. She feels like she’s being offered some priceless jewel, too priceless for her clumsy hands, but she accepts it with both hands. It’s sturdier than it looks, a nice hefty weight to it, and as Korra tests the grip, a spring-loaded mechanism releases blue folding wings and a tail fin.   
  
Tenzin watches her. “What do you say? Do you want to test it out?”  
  
“Yes,” Korra breathes, reverently. “Oh, definitely,  _yes_.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“Hello, Avatar Korra,” Lightning Bolt Zolt greets, smiling. “Remember me?”  
  
“How could I forget?” Korra says angrily, body automatically steadying itself for a confrontation.   
  
“Relax,” Zolt says easily, dismissing her aggression with a wave of her hand. “I am a man who pays his debts, and tonight, I’m going to start paying mine to you. I don’t want this city going to the Equalists anymore than you do.”   
  
Korra straightens. “That doesn’t mean I’ll let thugs like you rule it.”  
  
Bolt laughs, big and loud. “One battle at a time, Avatar. I don’t want to run this city. I just want what every citizen wants – my safety assured. And you’ve got your hands full with the Equalists now that they’ve got a new leader.”  
  
“New leader?”  
  
“Yep. Some lady. Military, possibly. She’s got skills for it – combat, driving, the works. Don’t know who she is, no one does, but she rose up in the ranks like a firecracker after Amon was outted. Thanks for that, by the way. Never did pay him back for humiliating me in that rally of his, but I do love that you ran him out of town.”  
  
“What do you want, Bolt?”  
  
“I want what everyone wants. For you to do your job, Avatar.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Every Tuesday, Tahno sticks around to help her pack up the supplies, wipe down the exercise targets, picks up the earth discs. They haven’t talked a lot since the championship, just here and there, but sometimes Korra comes to the arena to practice because it’s a good place to clear her thoughts. Strangely enough, Tahno is always there.  
  
Sometimes she thinks he likes to seek her out, and so she tells him stories about growing up with the pet polar bear dog that she once set after him, or her latest struggles with Tenzin’s kids, even though the stories have to bore him to death but she has no idea what else to talk about. Every time she mentions Mako or Bolin, he cracks a joke that irritates her, and she’s trying not to let his loathing tendencies get in the way of what she hopes could be a genuine friendship. Still, Tahno’s personality takes a bit getting used, even when he doesn't have much to say back. (She never would have thought of herself as caring about Tahno’s mood, but she’s glad they’ve gotten over their antagonistic phase, even if they are still on opposite teams and both Bolin and Mako still hate his guts on sight.)  
  
“I want in,” he says suddenly, breaking his silence one day. “Against the Equalists. I want in on the fight.”  
  
Korra freezes. “Tahno—”  
  
“No, hear me out. I know you probably have Thing One and Thing Two to help you out, and you think you don’t need me. But you do. I am trained in combat. You’ve seen my moves, and I can help you take down Equalists—”  
  
“Tahno,” she cuts in. “This isn’t about vengeance.”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he says airily, “It’s about justice. Whatever you say. I can deal. I just want  _in_.”  
  
The temporary loss of his bending is obviously still hounding him, even after months of recovery. He is still Tahno, still overly-confident and egotistical in all the ways that had made him so infuriating during the matches, but he is sharper, too, trimmed down and more certain in his movements. There are sketches of lingering pain in his eyes that she'd seen before, but not clearly; Amon's done damage, more than just taking his bending for a few short weeks. Otherwise when Korra had given it back, Tahno would have just moved on.  
  
“You’re angry,” Korra tells him, softly. “I get it. I  _do_. But you’re going to have to resolve your issues some other way because I’m not helping in any vendetta. I’m trying to protect this city. That’s all.”  
  
“That’s all I’m asking.”  
  
It isn’t. But she stares at him, debating. A part of her knows better than to turn a person so angry away; there isn’t any telling what he’d do on his own. It’s this thought that festers, preventing her from outright rejecting his offer.  
  
Eventually, she sighs. “On my terms,” Korra insists, stepping forward. “You put one step out of line, and you’re out.”  
  
“You’re the boss,” Tahno says, easily.  
  
Korra doesn’t believe him on that for a second.  
  


* * *

  
  
“What are you doing with Tahno?” Mako asks, randomly, one bright Sunday.  
  
Korra freezes, and looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “What?”  
  
They're sprawled out on the green grass of the public park, a picnic resting at his feet. She has her head in his lap, lazily soaking up the sun while Bolin tosses the turtleducks some pieces of bread in the nearby pond. It's been a pleasant evening all around, until that is, Mako presses wryly, “You and Tahno. I’ve noticed you’ve been hanging out with him more and more.”  
  
Korra slowly grins. “What are you,  _jealous_?”  
  
“What, no. Don’t be ridiculous,” he glares down at her. “I just don’t like him or trust him, and you shouldn’t either.”  
  
She nods. “Sure thing, except you don’t really  _know_  him, Mako.”  
  
“I’ve known him for years, Korra.”  
  
“No, you’ve known the old Tanho. The new version is a dramatic improvement, and if you’d just put aside your jealousy—”  
  
“I told you, I’m not  _jealous._ ”  
  
She rolls her eyes. “Hey, if I can handle you hanging out with Asami, I think you should be able to—”  
  
“Asami?” Mako blinks. “Who said anything about Asami?”  
  
Korra clenches her teeth, and rises up, turning to face him. “I’m just – I’m just saying, jealousy is cute and all, but just don’t tell me who to hang out with.”  
  
“I’m not telling you who to hang out with,” Mako insists, stiffly; there’s a growing cloud of anger on his face. “I’m just giving you my input. I didn’t know it meant so little.”  
  
“I’m not saying that.”  
  
“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’re taking my words for much meaning.”  
  
“Because you don’t know Tahno.”  
  
“And you do? Korra, the guy is a sleezeball who has a known reputation for turning women into fools.”  
  
Korra’s eyes bug out. “Are you calling me a fool?”  
  
He throws his hands up in the air. “I’m trying to stop you from becoming one,” he says, then his eyes widen like he realizes the  _stupidity_  of what he just said. It’s too late. “Wait, no – that’s not what I meant to—”  
  
“No, no,” Korra stops him, red-faced. She stands, clenching her fists at her side. “I think maybe you did mean that.”  
  
“Korra—”  
  
“I think it’s best if we stop this conversation before one or both of us says something we’re going to regret.”  
  
“Korra—”  
  
“Later, Mako!”   
  
She storms off, ignoring his shouts.   
  


* * *

  
  
The fight with Mako lights a fire under her. She reacts immediately, never so glad that Tenzin gives her a cash allowance. Of course, he gives it to her so that she can navigate throughout the city without relying on fishing in public streams for food, but he’d be surprised at how many other uses she’s found for it. Republic City is very welcoming in most parts to the Avatar, but having a little money never hurts. She buys a disguise this time, a proper one. Takes the time to let loose the ties that bind her hair, and frames it around her face in a style she’s seen Asami do a couple of times. (It's a poor imitation, but it'll have to do.) She changes out of her standard waterbending attire, donning instead a crisp pantsuit outfit that she’s seen some of the women wear these days. She applies makeup – not too much, because her first attempt at it left Korra feeling like a clown – but she puts on enough that she doesn’t necessarily think she’ll be easily recognized among a large crowd.   
  
The first time she snuck into an Equalist rally, she had Mako by her side.  
  
This time, it’s Tahno, and Korra feels a bit guilty, but Tahno's the one to bring the intel to her. Besides, she doesn’t owe Mako anything at the moment, not with his insufferable _Mr. I Know What's Good For You_ routine.  
  
All in all, when they arrive at the rally, it is absolutely nothing like she expects. She remembers the fear and the mob mentality of non-benders rising up under Amon’s dictatorship – but this rally, instead, is small and quiet. There are probably no more than two dozen people, and it’s hosted at a small restaurant. Korra can’t get over the stark differences, until she realizes it isn’t an Equalist rally at all. They are all non-benders, yes, but not Equalists.  
  
“Half my business has dried up since the attacks,” one man speaks up, sounding grief-stricken. “Benders refuse my services, but don’t they see? I am just like them. I know I’m a non-bender, but the Equalists never spoke for me! I never had anything to do with them or their violence.”  
  
There’s a murmur of agreement, and Korra flinches and sinks lower in her seat.  
  
This, she feels, is something she has to fix.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I’m sorry,” Mako blurts out, the first thing out of his mouth. He looks like roadkill, and she imagines she might not be looking much better by comparison because she hasn't been getting proper sleep for three days. At his words, all anger and righteous indignation drains out of Korra instantaneously, because it’s like, _wow_ , she really hates fighting with Mako. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Mako continues, sounding like he's been brooding about the fight for days, just like her. “I never meant to say half those things, but god, you just—you make me so  _crazy_  sometimes.”  
  
He sounds a little exasperated and resigned to it, like having a girlfriend that constantly inspires fits of insanity is just one of those things he signed up for when he started dating the Avatar; in Korra’s defense, she’s been pretty upfront about the buckets of her crazy.   
  
“No, I’m sorry, Mako,” she tells him, suddenly feeling the sting of guilt. “You were right. I have been hanging out with Tahno more, but it isn’t what you think.”  
  
Mako looks like he’s bracing himself for disastrous news. “Am I going to like this?”  
  
She grabs his hand and forces him to sit beside her, and then she tells him – tells him about finding out about the Equalist rally, and going with Tahno – Mako tenses here, but she calms him down and promises nothing happened. “It wasn’t even an Equalist rally,” she informs quickly. “Just a support group for non-benders.”  
  
Mako looks to be struggling to contain his emotions. “I should have been there with you,” he tells her.  
  
Korra’s shoulders drop. “I wish you had been,” she says, abysmally. “Maybe then you could have made sense out of everything. It was – god, Mako. I don’t know what to do. Those people were ordinary citizens. Good people, and you should have heard them talk. They lost everything because of Amon. It isn’t fair.”  
  
Something about the desperation of her words and emotions manages to dislodge the last bit of his anger, because he sighs, wrapping an arm around Korra in comfort and she collapses against him gratefully. He tugs her closer, and she fingers his scarf, staring absently at the small bit of stubble on his jaw (he usually shaves every day, and she wonders where the five o’clock shadow came from, before she realizes his fight with her must have thrown off his regular routine a bit). She thinks distantly about non-benders and Bumi’s words, and how all of this is painting a picture that is vastly different than what she’d been expecting.  
  
“We need to give the non-benders a voice,” Mako says. “Until we change their minds, they’ll always feel like second class citizens. The anger will always be there. Things need to change.  _We_  need to change.”  
  
Korra huffs a breath. “Great. Bring on the suggestions, because short of holding a parade in the Equalist’s honor, I’m open to almost anything.”  
  
“Sure you don’t want Tahno’s advice instead?”  
  
“Mako,” she whines, burrowing her face into his shirt, groaning. “He’s just a friend! You’re seriously jealous of  _Tahno_? He’s… have you seen his hair? He puts more hair care product in it than Asami uses! He’s loud, and obnoxious, and I think there’s only room for one person like that in a relationship, and I’m already calling dibs on it.”   
  
Mako rolls his eyes affectionately. “You’re not obnoxious, Korra.”  
  
“You and your romantic declarations,” Korra teases, wryly. Then drops her voice, more serious, “You know you’re not so bad there yourself, Cool Guy. You’re smart, sexy and a great boyfriend. What are you jealous about?”  
  
He looks to her, a bit hopeful and a bit sheepish. “Really?” he asks, a little red in the ears. “… sexy?”  
  
She grins, leaning over to breathe heavily into his ears, “Don’t act like you don’t know it.” She shakes her head. “And here I thought I’d be the jealous one with Asam—” she bolts upright, exclaiming, “Asami!”  
  
Mako straightens. “What? Korra, I swear, we’re just friends! There’s nothing between us—”  
  
“What? No! That’s not what I’m talking about. Asami, she’s the key. She’s how we fix this.”  
  
Mako blinks. “Please clarify how my ex-girlfriend will help fix issues of jealousy in our relationship?”  
  
“Not that,” Korra chides, because how is he so dense? “Fix the other thing. The non-bender thing.”  
  
“What? Korra, you’re not making any sense.”  
  
“You’re kinda adorable when you’re confused, anyone ever tell you that?”  
  
“I thought I was sexy?”  
  
“You’re sexy when you’re smart, adorable when you’re confused, and just plain pretty the rest of the time.”  
  
Mako laughs, pulling her onto his lap while shaking his head. “God, I love you.”  
  
She kisses him softly. “And don’t you forget it. But ah—” she pulls away from him when he goes to kiss her again, “Not now, Mako! We’ve got to go see Asami. I’ve got to tell her about my idea.”  
  
“What idea? I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“C’mon, then!” Korra exclaims. “I can explain on the way there!”   
  


* * *

  
  
She watches as Asami takes the podium. “My fellow citizens,” her voice rings out, clear and strong. “It comes as no surprise to anyone when I say that Republic City is in the midst of great turmoil. This city was once a beacon of harmony, but it's fallen into discord. However, to those who advocate violence as a means of change, I say to them that violence makes us no better than petty criminals. It undermines our worth and sullies our way of life. Non-benders’ voices need to be heard, not silenced. We are the citizens of Republic City. We are, in fact, the majority. But now people are crying out against us. Violence is not the way. We have a voice, so let us use it! That is why I am honored to join as the first representative of non-benders on the Republic City Counsel.”  
  
The crowd erupts into cheers. Korra isn’t surprised that the audience loves Asami. Beyond corralling her father’s spiraling company back into an upward swing, profit-wise, Asami has also taken many steps to course-correct the public image of Future Industries. She’s become the face of many non-benders who've felt caught unwittingly in the Equalist-Bender fight. Korra catches Asami’s eye from the crowd, and Korra opens her mouth, probably to deliver some encouraging or hopeful remark to join the chorus of yells, but after a beat she just closes her mouth. She nods once at Asami, a lone gesture of solidarity, and Asami seems to get the message because she nods back. Asami has always been a voice of reason so Korra isn’t surprised that people are listening to her now. A bit jealous, yes – it’s supposed to be the Avatar’s job to calm people down – but Korra can’t begrudge anyone who’s trying to help with matters, least of all Asami. Nonbenders need a voice of their own, defined by someone in this city other than Amon or the Equalists.   
  
After the crowd's clapping has died down, Asami continues, “We have a voice now, alongside every other bending nation. Changes are coming. With the leaders of this great city, I believe that if we work together, Republic City can be all it was promised to be. A beacon of hope. Of change. Of harmony!”  
  
The crowd breaks into applause all over again.  
  
After the speech, Korra strides towards the podium to Asami. “Moving words, Counselwoman Asami,” Korra tells her, formally, while the Future Industries press agent asks them to shake hands for a photo-op.  
  
Asami smiles for the cameras. “That means a lot coming from you, Avatar Korra.”  
  
A flashbulb goes off, capturing what will become a rather famous picture in the distant future: the Avatar and one of the most famous leaders of Republic City, as they were just starting off.  
  


* * *

She plays pai sho every Wednesday with Iroh. 

She isn’t even sure how it starts, but Tenzin has been telling her that strategy is one of the key points in any course of action, and Korra knows herself well enough to know that she’s more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants type of girl. Mako is the one that usually has to rein her in and come up with some type of game plan. She thinks maybe it was Pema’s idea to try pai sho, but now she can’t remember. Anyway, every Wednesday, she sits down across a checkered board and plays against Iroh. And every Wednesday, she sits down across a checkered board and _loses_  against Iroh. It’s become a source of frustration, and her persistence in the matter has become a matter of pride.

“This time,” she declares, “you’re going  _down_ , mister firelord prince about to get his butt whupped in pai sho.”

Iroh rolls his eyes. “Sure thing, miss fully realized Avatar that still sucks at namecalling.” (Iroh has loosened up considerably around her over the months.) “Don’t be too upset, though. I hear Avatar Aang wasn’t that great at this game, either.”

“Oh yeah? Another one of those things your grandfather told you?”

“No,” Iroh replies. “My mom used to beat him silly when she was only thirteen.”

Korra rolls her eyes back. “Oh, so it’s family tradition, then?”

“You could say it’s a matter of family honor,” Iroh says, grinning as if he’s in on some joke.

* * *

  
  
(The lessons about strategy don’t really sink in, at first.)  
  
She strides into the bar like she owns the place, and whether they know who she is or not, they can sense she means business because no one looks straight at her and she staring everyone down. She is done playing games. She is tired of getting nowhere.  
  
“People say this place is run by Equalist sympathizers,” Korra calls out, brazenly. “And I want some answers.”   
  
A man steps forward. “You’re not welcome here, Avatar Korra.”  
  
Korra stands tall, figuring there's no real harm in asking a few simple questions.   
  


* * *

  
  
Apparently, there is a  _a lot_  of harm in asking a few simple questions.  
  
“Korra!” Tenzin admonishes from her left, and his face is doing that weird thing where there’s too much blood and perhaps not enough oxygen getting to his face, because his voice sounds choked. “What were you  _thinking?_  You can’t just go looking for fights—”  
  
“I wasn’t,” she insists, because really, she hadn’t been. Not really.  
  
“Oh, c’mon Korra,” Mako interrupts, coming at her from the right. “You swaggered in there with no plan and no back up! You could have been hurt, or—”  
  
“—and you didn’t even stop to think about how this looked!” Tenzin continues. “The Avatar raiding an establishment with no forewarning or cause—”  
  
“You could have at least waited until me or Bolin showed up—”  
  
“This type of reckless action can do long standing harm. People are scared enough and—”  
  
“Enough!” Korra roars, butting in.   
  
Bad enough that she has Tenzin lording over her with his indignant lecturing, but when did her  _boyfriend_  join the act? A second after that thought arises, Korra discards it. She knows Mako well enough to know why he’s reacting this way; doesn’t mean she has to like it.  
  
“Okay, I get it. Maybe going in there to demand answers wasn’t the best plan—” she ignores both Tenzin’s and Mako’s snorts of agreement, “—but I’m tired of getting nowhere. We can’t wait around for things to fall apart again. I won’t.”  
  
“Korra,” Tenzin says, sounding softer this time. “We have to be—”  
  
“I know, I know,” Korra cuts in, rising from her chair.  _“Patient.”_  
  
She really hates that word.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Korra, slow down!” Asami shouts, but Korra is having way too much fun.   
  
She swerves the Satomobile across the racetrack, feeling momentum run its course as she slams against the driver side door when they take a particularly harsh curve. Asami laughs and directs Korra to shift into a higher gear, and Korra complies, hearing the grating noise and feeling the rush of adrenaline as they take off at a faster speed. The road straightens out ahead of them.  
  
“You’ve almost caught up to the driver ahead!” Asami exclaims, shouting encouragement.  
  
Korra doesn’t finish in first place, but she comes close.  
  
“Not bad,” Asami nods. "You nearly caught up with Oya, and she's the best."  
  
Korra’s hands are gripped tight over the steering wheel. “Can we do it again?” she breathes out, trying to contain her excitement. “Please?”  
  
Asami laughs. “Oh boy, why do I get the feeling that I’ve created a monster?”  
  


* * *

  
  
Despite the fact that she has made contact with the Spirit World, it still doesn’t come easy to her. But one evening, after a particularly stressful day chasing down an Equalist spy who turned out to be a fourteen-year-old boy, Korra feels as lost as ever. She just wants to know what she’s doing wrong, and when she finally manages to make contact with Avatar Aang, she gets him at his most enigmatic. “Don’t look where you fell,” he tells her, “but where you slipped.”  
  
“Wait,” Korra says, frustrated and angry. “What does that mean? Stop being mysterious! You’re  _dead_ , you’ve got the mystery-thing down cold already. I just—I just want to know how to fix this. Whose face do I need to pummel to  _fix_  this?”  
  
“I’m suddenly glad you didn’t go to Avatar Kyoshi with this,” Aang teases, then sighs. “Be patient, Korra. Things have a way of revealing themselves in time.”  
  
She huffs a breath. “Patience has never been one of my virtues.”   
  
“Amusingly enough, I think I managed to pick up on that already.”  
  
Did she just—did she just get slammed by the spiritual manifestation of her former self?  
  
“Yes,” Aang says, shrugging a little sheepishly. “Yes, you did.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The song on the phonograph runs out, the needle skipping over the grooves to make a weird repetitive sound. Neither Mako or Korra seem to notice, though, too caught up in necking on the sofa. She drags him closer with a fistful of his shirt, then pushes him back down onto the cushions behind him. She climbs on top of him, straddling him across his lap, and it’s like Korra can’t stop herself, her breath coming heavy and her hips soon grinding a sinful staccato beat into his groin; when she draws off her shirt with one quick rapid movement, Mako quickly starts mouth kisses across her chest and neck, fingers fidgeting with the skin-tone bindings that hug her breasts.   
  
“Spirits, Korra,” he says, sounding husky. “You’re so beautiful.”  
  
She’s never thought of herself as anything pretty, but when Mako says it, especially like that, she always finds herself believing him. She kisses him again and his hands keep pulling her harder against him, tighter and more insistent, so she drags her mouth away from his and says, halfway between breathless and demanding, “Touch me.”   
  
And he groans, obliging to her as his hand slides down between them, finding the apex of her legs. He pushes the material of her underwear aside and she moans. “Mako,” she breathed out, and he grunts in return. She burrows her face into his shoulder as he strokes her, first with a single finger, slow and testing, then harder and faster until the sensation drives any thought or restraint straight out of her. She starts shifting against his hand, noises escaping her lips that she can't control.   
  
“SO, YES, TENZIN,” Bolin’s voice crashes over the moment, through the door. "HOW NICE OF YOU TO VISIT US!" He’s shouting from clear across the hall, loud and obnoxious, but most of all jarring, and it takes a second before Korra realizes what's happening. She scrambles off Mako in a flash. “I’LL JUST GO AND FIND MAKO NOW.” She has about four seconds to grab her shirt and dive into their closet before the door opens. Tenzin looks a little irritated at Bolin as he continues to ramble, “Oh, hey Mako! Hey, bro. Guess who’s here? It’s Tenzin! Good ol’ Tenzin! Say hi to Tenzin, Mako!”  
  
She watches through the slits of the closet door as Mako, redfaced and panicking, attempts to regroup. “H-hello, Tenzin. What can I do for you?”  
  
Tenzin clears his throat. “Yes, sorry to barge in like this, but I was hoping Korra was around. You haven’t seen her, have you?”  
  
“Nope, not at all. Can’t say I’ve seen her all day.”  
  
Tenzin frowns. “Oh. My mistake. Well, if you see her, tell her I’m looking for her, all right? She’s missed every airbending session this week! She can’t keep doing this.”  
  
“Oh,” Mako manages. “I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to her about that. I’ll make sure she shows up to the next session.”  
  
Tenzin sighs. “Thank you, Mako. Sometimes I’m reminded how good it is she has such a levelheaded man like you in her life.”   
  
“Yeah,” Mako croaks out, with a pillow strategically placed on his lap. “Oh, well, it’s nothing, really.”  
  


* * *

  
  
To thank Bolin for saving their butts, and doing it an a way that doesn't require anyone to verbally acknowledge what just happened, they all go out to dinner later that night to his favorite dumplings place. But when the lively conversation takes an unexpected turn, Korra feels like maybe they haven't been spending enough time with him lately because she must be the last person on the planet to find out that Lin has been giving Bolin metalbending lessons; he’s even talking about joining the police.   
  
“Think about it!” Bolin exclaims, excitedly. “If I walk back into the city square and face all those guys that used to make fun of me, I'll be carrying those cool metalbending whips. So if some smart-aleck started laughing at me, I could just say, "That's right, it's a whip. The whip of justice!" Then everyone would get real quiet and ashamed, because they made fun of the whip of justice, and I could probably hit them up for a free drink.”  
  
“Yeah, but bro,” Mako says, trying to sound patient when Korra can sense the anxiety coming off him in waves; she doesn’t have to be a mindreader to know what Mako thinks of this. “It’s dangerous. We have enough trouble in our lives. You really want to sign up for it on a daily basis?”  
  
“Why not, Mako? It’s not like we can avoid it, anyway. It’s part of our lives. Might as well make the most of it. I can help protect this city.”  
  
“Yeah, but—”  
  
“But what?” Boliln cuts in. “I can do this. Tell him, Korra! He’ll listen to you.”  
  
They both swivel their heads toward Korra, and she feels trapped between a rock and a hard place. An apt analogy when in the middle of Mako and Bolin on either side of her. “Oh, um,” she says, awkwardly. Eventually, because she has to say the truth, she smiles at Bolin. “I think you’d make a great police officer, Bolin.”  
  
“Woo-hoo!” Bolin declares, while Mako glowers. “See?! The Avatar is on my side. What more endorsement could you need?”  
  
“Bolin,” Mako says, through clenched teeth; Korra knows he’s going to have words with her later on. “I still don’t think it’s a good idea to rush into this—”  
  
“Who’s rushing into anything?” Bolin defends himself.  
  
But two days later, he’s already signed up for the academy.  
  


* * *

  
  
No one does baths like Republic City – all steamed and warmed to the perfect temperature before it even leaves the faucet – not that it had made much difference back home when Korra used firebending to make ends meet. There is something to be said about luxury and convenience, though.  
  
She trains in the morning with Tenzin. Spends hours doing the rounds, the specific stances and grounding techniques, even though she learned those long ago, miming at power she couldn’t reach. Airbending no longer feels like the new element to play with, but though she’s unlocked it, it still takes a lot of effort to catch some of the more advanced techniques. (Her Airbending Test is actually a few months away, and she’s getting a little nervous about it.) She’s always sweat soaked and tired by mid-afternoon when Tenzin has to take his leave to attend to other matters, and then it’s Jinora, Ikki and Meelo’s turn to give her extra practice without the strict rigidity of Tenzen’s exercises.  
  
But Korra prefers a bit of alone time to feel out the familiarity of air. Ability is a good thing, but stability is even better.  
  
In the bath, all alone, she wields a small puff of air. Nothing special, just a ball. Makes it grow, but not too much. Just a small size, whirling and whirling, right above her tub. Korra sinks lower, till the water nearly splashes over the rim, water at her neck and hair clinging to her skin in wet curls. She watches in fascination how the tight ball of air responds to her command, spinning clockwise at first, then counterclockwise, then faster, and slower, then with a loop through the room to come back zooming to her.  
  
Such a simple thing, but Korra knows better than to ever take it for granted.  
  


* * *

  
  
“C’mon, Cool Guy, you can’t avoid me forever!” She pounds on the door for the third time. "Damn it, Mako, open the door," she calls. "I know you're home." Silence. "Bolin called me yesterday." Silence. She knocks again, louder. "Mako, _c’mon_." Down the hall, she’s aware that the White Lotus guards are trying everything in their power to pretend like they’re not eavesdropping, but Korra can't bring herself to care. "I'm not leaving until you open the door," she threatens.   
  
Inside, nothing stirs.   
  
Sighing, she leans her head against the doorframe and knocks again, then turns her back to the door and slides down to the floor. She waits. Korra has spent the last few days dealing with Mako’s moody and temperamental behavior. It’s one of the things she wishes they didn’t have in common, actually. It’s making this fight grating and unbearable. He’d been avoiding her for days.  
  
Korra has had about enough of that.  
  
About an hour later, she’s startled to find Mako approaching from down the hall. Feeling a tad embarrassed that she spent the morning alternatively camped out in front of and shouting obscenities at an empty flat, she pushes off the floor.  
  
“If you’re here to talk about Bolin, I’m not interested.”  
  
"Jeeze," she mutters, exasperated, "a girl can't visit her boyfriend without an ulterior motive?"  
  
Make rolls his eyes and brushes past her. “You’re here, willingly, in the  _morning_. That only means you have a motive.”  
  
She kinda hates that he knows her so well, but the truth is talking about Bolin is only part of the deal; she’s  _missed_  Mako. Unfortunately, her hotheaded boyfriend hasn’t taken Bolin’s decision to join the police academy in stride, and he’s held Korra’s support of that decision equally in disfavor. She gets why he’s so overprotective of Bolin – she really does. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that his childhood was spent with Bolin’s welfare as his number one priority. The notion that his little brother, a guy who frequently muses upon the hilarity of dressing his pet ferret in drag, is joining law enforcement has to take a little getting used to.  
  
But it’s been days, and Korra has been unusually patient about all this.   
  
“Talk to me,” she prods him, whining, after the door closes behind them.  
  
His small room at the southern end of the Air Temple isn’t much, but it’s still ten times cleaner than hers. Korra has spent enough time here to feel comfortable, but today it feels almost barren because Bolin’s usual sloth isn’t adding its normal color to the place. Mako is freakishly neat, almost minimalistic in his need for things. The only time she’s seen him get messy is when he’s cooking. (He’s a decent cook, and once they even cooked together, side by side in the kitchen. Korra had burned the noodles. She didn’t even know you  _could_  burn noodles.) Anyway, Korra is usually here every free evening, seated on the cracked sofa or helping in little ways like chopping onions in the kitchen, but she hasn’t been here the last few days and it’s been… maddening.   
  
Apparently, she isn’t the only one that’s been worn thin by the distance. She can judge that by the state of his shirt. It’s wrinkly, and while Mako may wear well-worn clothes, he is always, always well-groomed.   
  
“What do you want me to say, Korra?”  
  
“I don’t know. That you’re angry. You’re upset. You're _hungry_. Just talk to me!” she pleads. “What’s going on in your head?”  
  
“I’m angry!” he snaps.  
  
“Good,” she volleys back, though it’s without heat; Spirits help her when she has to be the voice of reason in any conversation. “At who?”  
  
“You,” he replies, firmly. “Bolin, myself. Pick a flavor and stick to it. If I had a week, I still couldn’t list all the reasons why.”  
  
Her shoulders sag. “You’re a big idiot, you know that?”  
  
“Name-calling is already on the list of reasons, thanks.”  
  
“Bolin is an adult. A capable adult, with more good in him than a dozen other guys.”  
  
“I  _know_  that.”  
  
“He can take care of himself.”  
  
“I know that!”  
  
“Do you? Because you’re not acting like—”  
  
“I can’t just sit idly by while he throws himself into another situation completely out of his depths.”  
  
If her heart wasn’t aching for both brothers and the painful distance between them, she’d be knocking their heads together. A part of her still considers that a viable option, but she steps forward and tips Mako’s face up so that he looks her square in the eye. “We’re all completely out of our depths,” she tells him, softly.   
  
There’s a beat, and then his shoulders drop. “He’s my little brother,” he repeats, like those simple four words explain everything. She knows it sorta does. “He’s all I have in this world. Or at least, before—”  
  
The way he’s looking at her makes it obvious what’s left unsaid: he has Korra now, too.  
  
She recovers, just barely, clearing a lump in her throat. “You still have him in your life, if you’d just stop with this stubborn act. He’s growing up, Mako. We all are.”  
  
Mako sighs. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  
  
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t support each other through it, either.”  
  


* * *


	3. 土強 - Earth is Strong

* * *

> 土強 - Earth is Strong

  
  
Lately, Pema has been leaving objects in the wrong place. Korra finds a fountain pen in the fridge, moon cakes in Rohan’s diaper bag, and one of Tenzin’s sandals in a bathroom drawer. The Air Temple seems to get smaller and smaller with how much Jinora, Ikki and Meelo are running wild these days, and Korra realizes the hardships of a newborn baby is wearing Pema thin.   
  
So, she volunteers to babysit for an entire day, taking all the kids across the water to the Republic City Central Park. Pema jumps at the opportunity for a day to herself, packing four different bags - one for Rohan, one for the girls and two for Meelo (he eats a lot, and poos a lot, and there’s a chance he’ll end up naked at least once during the outing and they’ll need a spare set of clothes because no one will know what happened to the original). She asks if Asami wants to join, and automatically volunteers Bolin and Mako to help without asking them, because Bolin is actually pretty good with the kids and is always happy to help, and Mako is – well, Mako is in it whether he likes it or not because that’s just part of the boyfriend code. Besides, the boys have finally patched up their fight, Mako having reluctantly accepted Bolin's new life direction, and Korra wants to foster as much downtime together as possible in the hopes of avoiding anymore awkwardness.  
  
Thankfully, Mako doesn’t put up much of a fight, though later in the day, when he’s trapped between two overeager pre-pubescent girls who both have a crush on him, Korra can tell he’s rethinking his life choices. “How you doing there, City Boy?” she hollers across the grass, half-mocking.  
  
He gives her a naked look of abject fear while Ikki rambles on, “Can I play with your hair? It’s so lovely! And how about some makeup too because you have the darkest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a boy. You could look like those pretty men from the covers of those books that Jinora reads. The ones with the heroes who can't find a whole shirt. Meelo tends to eat the makeup rather than wear it. I’m hoping Rohan will be more cooperative when he grows up. But right now he’s a little baby and he doesn’t need make up. You could use it, Mako. Make up is the prettiest, most awesome thing in the world and it could make you prettier even though you’re already pretty anyways.”  
  
Mako stares. “… thanks, but I think Korra actually needs my help.”  
  
Korra just holds up Rohan. “That’s cool! This little guy is easy to handle right now. You’re free to do whatever you like with Ikki!”  
  
“Yay!” Ikki exclaims, grabbing Mako by the hands to pull him towards her bag.   
  
Mako sends Korra a seething glare, but Korra only flashes back a grin, grabbing one of Rohan’s tiny fists to mockingly wave at him. Across the pond, Korra lifts her head briefly to spy Bolin walk over to ask Jinora about her latest book, talking under the shade of a large oak tree. Meelo is keeping busy pestering Asami with a thousand and one questions, and at some point, her homeless friend Gommu appears from behind the bushes and joins their picnic.  
  
“So, how is everything going lately, Avatar Korra?” Gommu asks with enthusiasm.  
  
“Well, there are good days and bad days, but I can’t complain too much.”  
  
Gommu gives her a knowing smile. “Well, just remember. There is always something to be thankful for. If you can't pay your bills, you can be thankful you are not one of your creditors.”  
  
Korra laughs. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”  
  
Rohan gurgles affectionately in her hands, trying to stuff his fist down his mouth. She sets the baby on her lap, reaching over to grab a napkin to wipe the drool off his face, and when she turns back, he’s flipped himself over on his stomach and is crying because his world has unexpectedly turned upside down.   
  
“Oh, it’s all right,” Korra coos. “I’ve got ya, you little munchkin.”  
  


* * *

  
  
A month later, she's burning up and her head hurts like it's full of broken glass. "Sleep," a voice says, Mako, and she thinks,  _Sleep? I'm already sleeping._  But there's no resisting the suggestion; she sinks into slumber like a stone in a clear pond. Her fever takes over, but while she drifts in and out, she has plenty of company.  
  
“Hello,” Avatar Roku greets. “So you’re having a bit of a bad day.”  
  
“What’s happening?” she asks  
  
“Even the Avatar can get sick,” he tells her, with some amusement. “Don’t worry. It’ll pass. But in the meantime, I thought this might be a good time to get to know each other.”  
  
She takes a deep breath. “That’d be my honor, Avatar Roku.”  
  
She spends a full day in the Spirit World, not only meeting Roku but Kyoshi and several others of her past lives. Just before the sunsets (and the sun apparently sets in the spiritual world?), Aang sends her off. “So, how have you enjoyed this little class reunion?”  
  
“It’s been… well, enlightening.”  
  
Aang grins. “The spiritual world can be like that.”  
  
“I just… It’s nice, putting faces and personalities to all these names. It’s makes them more…”  
  
“Human?” Aang offers. “Rather than legend?”  
  
Korra smiles. “Something like that.”  
  
Aang sends her off with a few amusing anecdotes about his time with his friends. When she drifts upward into hazy consciousness again, her fever has broken. She's still sweating, but the headache is almost gone. Shifting her limbs, it takes superhuman effort to open her eyes and the light drives the headache right back home, but she discovers she's in her room – Mako is sitting in a heap nearby in a chair, fast asleep with his neck at an awkward angle. He wakes up a second after her, and then jackknifes up in his chair.   
  
“Hey,” he greets, voice sounding hoarse; she wonders how much he slept while she was out. “How are you feeling?”  
  
She feels like crap. She feels like her body has been through the ringer and came out the other side like she was regurgitated food. She feels like she’s run a marathon and fought off a bull-elephant with her bare hands.   
  
But instead, thinking of Aang and the now familiar faces of Roku and Kyoshi and the other past Avatars, she simply answers, “I’m feeling better.”  
  


* * *

  
  
She barely has time to recover before she's active again. The Equalists are targeting Triad members now, and Korra can only think of Lightning Bolt Zolt's words, how he'd taunted her with information about the new leader. There's obviously a struggle for control between the two opposing factions, and the conflict has escalated enough that Lin had to personally intervene and pull apart a rather messy fight in the downtown district usually reserved for tourists. Lin's in the hospital with a nasty burn on her arm, and both Equalists and Triad members managed to escape without charge.  
  
“Korra, stop, just think this through. We can’t go into a Triad neighborhood without a plan.”   
  
"I have a plan. It's called kicking some flaky, no-good, dumb firebenders in the ass and–"  
  
"Korra," Mako says, in a tone.  
  
It's the particular tone she’s been conditioned to respond to, the one she hadn’t realized worked on her for the longest time; Mako is always the only one that can calm her down when she’s been wound up for a fight. Her body jolts, jack-knifed to whip around and face him, and he repeats the words, coaxing her to calm down, to think this through, until her lungs expand with air and she breathes out in a semblance of rationality – and she realizes he’s right.   
  
“Fine,” she says, gloomily. “We won’t go tonight.”  
  
But two nights later, even after planning it out, it’s Mako that’s frantic, pulling her tight against him, kissing her desperately, pressing her against the wall of his room while callouses catch on the frayed tips of her burned shirt. Even when they don’t rush into things, their plans have a habit of unraveling at the seams. The fight against the Triple Threat Triad went very, very awry, and once again Korra questions her wisdom in giving back so many known criminals the right to bend. But the thought quickly flitters away when Mako lifts her up, and the ruined shirt she’s wearing rises to expose her skin as she tightens her legs around his waist. She presses into him, and he bucks close, harsh, against her open legs, and Korra wishes, not for the first time, that there wasn’t anything between them.   
  
Then he’s walking them back towards the bed, and they bump into things along the way, but they don’t stop kissing. They land in a pile of limbs, and she can feel Mako’s desperation like wildfire, catching and spreading across to her. The casualty of that last firebending fight could have been a lot worse than just her shirt. But this is – this is moving too fast, she realizes, when she feels Mako’s hand flick open the buttons of her pants. It isn’t an unfamiliar touch, but Spirits, they’d talked about  _waiting_ , just for a bit longer. But the arm supporting him above her gives out, sending them landing full impact on his mattress, and she knows where this is all heading. If they get started, they won't stop. They won't stop, not tonight.  
  
“Wait, wait, wait,” she breathes. “Slow down, Mako.”  
  
It takes a second for Mako to command his body to slow down, while a kiss at the shell of her ear lingers, spreading doubt and another flare of lust across her. His breathing is heavy when he pulls back, hands stilled where it’s resting over her exposed underwear.   
  
“Sorry,” he breathes, and he manages to sound like he’s out of breath and contrite and heavy and tempting all at the same time. “Sorry,” he repeats, puling back.   
  
“Hey, hey,” she grabs at him. “Don’t leave. Just—” she can still feel his desperation playing havoc, and it shocks her like it always does, when she realizes how much he cares about her, how much his precise control slips every time she gets hurt or is put in danger. Mako has lost so much, but she’s the Avatar and she knows better than to promise him that it won’t happen again. “Stay,” she pleads, for either him or herself, it doesn’t matter. This is for both of them. “Stay here with me.”  
  
After an unsteadying beat, he sighs and dips his forehead against hers, eyes closing in something akin to relief. He nods, just once, and slowly wraps his arms around her waist. They rearrange themselves without words. He buries his face into the crook of her shoulder. She turns, and he settles in right behind, bodies pressed so close together she can hardly breathe; she can feel his hard-on pressing against her backside but it’s almost like that’s an afterthought for Mako because it feels like he just wants to be  _close_  to her in any way he can manage. His fingers brush against the ruined edges of her shirt, and she’s aware she smells like smoke, like ash.  
  
“I’m fine,” she whispers to him, “Really, Mako, I’m fine. I’m not hurt.”  
  
She feels him nod, but he doesn’t say a single word for the rest of the night; he just holds her.  
  


* * *

  
  
The bad days start up again. Not that it ever really felt like it went away, precisely, but there's another bout of violent escalation.  
  
Asami intercepts Korra and the guys just as their finishing their latest pro-bending practice. The new season is still far off, but Mako insists on getting in at least a few hours of drilling every week and Korra knows it has nothing to do with winning a tournament. It’s good practice for threats outside the arena.   
  
Asami drives them across the city back to the Future Industries’ headquarters, where one isolated building is more heavily guarded than most prisons in the nation and it’s almost twice as big as the new pro-bending arena. “The others are already here,” Asami explains, looking pained. “As soon as I found out what was going on, I called everybody. In fact, I've already debriefed General Iroh and he’s agreed with my assessment.”  
  
“ _General_ Iroh?” Korra prods, curiously. "The added formality seems a little excessive, don't you think? I thought you guys were close friends."  
  
Asami flushes in the cheeks. “Anyway,” she continues quickly, deflecting. “There’s something that all of you need to see.”  
  
Asami’s voice is laden with apprehension, and the feeling catches like a cold. Korra follows her into the factory building to spot Tenzin, Lin, Bumi and Iroh already waiting for them. The room is filled with a small fleet of airships, a line of Satomobiles that seem retrofitted with extra metal protection for the police, a dozen of those mecha tanks, and a few models of something that Korra can’t even identify. The industrial application of all these machines — it's like staring into the future, and as much as Korra thinks of herself as a modern girl, there are moments when she realizes that life is rapidly changing in this new day and age. It's progressively eliminating so many things, the old ways of  _doing_ things – and, of course, there are few things on Earth that are older than the Avatar.   
  
“Hiroshi Sato has been busy,” Lin greets, no-nonsense, as soon as they’re through the door. “We’ve been getting reports that he’s been smuggled to some place in the Fire Nation, and has been continuing his research there in private.”  
  
“My father wouldn't let anything get in the way of his inventions,” Asami adds, somberly. “And he might have created one of the most deadliest creations yet.”  
  
Korra flinches, and Bolin harks, “Oh, wow. What is it this time? Planes that can go into outer space? No offense to our side of the fight, but you gotta admit. That man’s brain is just a little bit incredibly  _intimidating._ ”   
  
“It’s something worse,” Asami says.  
  
“Worse?” Bumi repeats, and he sighs heavily. “I’m with Bolin on this. I’m already buying boots to shake in.”  
  
“One of our docking agents recovered a shipment with hidden supplies,” Asami tells them as she walks across the cement floor. Korra expects her to bypass an oblong table to reach the unidentified vehicles in the back, but Asami stops instead at the table. She opens a large metal briefcase, where inside, nestled within foam and a tight encasing, are a series of various metal objects: small bolts, a long spring, a metal-shaft barrel, and other types of rods and extensions, but Korra can’t figure out what it can do until Asami picks up the pieces and starts assembling it quickly.  
  
“This is like those heavy-duty recoil-operated weapons that my father put on the airships,” Asami says, as she drops a small metal piece and slides a bolt into place on the barrel. She continues to assemble the weapon, still talking, “But this is for people to carry, not for planes. It’s compact, reliable, and it can discharge a high volume of automatic fire.” She slides a spring into place, and grabs the large wooden block that Korra assumes is some type of rear handle. “It uses a smaller caliber of bullets, but it can gun down pretty much anything. My father calls it the Sato machine-gun, apparently.”   
  
Asami slams the last piece into place with the palm of her hand, and cocks some trigger several times to test the assembly. Then she raises the weapon, aims at a spattering of targets across the room, and squeezes the trigger. Korra and the rest jerk back in shock as the target is assailed with a barrage of bullets that reduce it to a crumbling mess within seconds. When Asami stops, there’s ringing in Korra’s ears for a few long seconds.  
  
“Holy flaming fire flakes,” Bolin mumbles, jaw hanging open.  
  
“My father always liked naming things after himself,” Asami says with a disgustful sigh, holding the intimidating weapon aloft in both hands.  
  
Korra steps forward. “It’s…” she shudders, “scary, but I don’t see how this is worse than the other stuff your father created.”  
  
“It’s small,” Mako says, in a hefty tone, eying the weapon with an understanding that apparently Korra hasn’t grasped yet.  
  
Korra frowns. “I can see that.”  
  
“Just think about it, kid,” Lin says. “It’s small enough for a person to carry with them at all times.”  
  
“They get smaller than this one,” Asami informs. “Small enough to hide behind a coat and slip into a large pocket.”  
  
“This could be a game-changer,” Mako says, gravely.  
  
Korra must still look dubious, because Bumi adds in explanation, “Before this, Hiroshi built bombs and planes and big robotic machines. This is different. It’s more… stealthy.” He turns to Tenzin. “Remember that infestation of snake-rats that we had at the house when we were kids? The reason they were so hard to get rid of was because they were small and deadly and fast.”  
  
Tenzin, apparently, shares Korra’s doubts. “We can defeat an army of snake-rats,” he insists, stiffly.  
  
“What Commander Bumi is trying to say,” Asami cuts in, “is that my father built many things for Equalist soldiers, but this isn’t meant for an army.”  
  
Iroh nods. “These guns? They’re better weapons than a sword. They’re faster than any type of bending I’ve ever seen, and their sole intent is to  _kill._ ”  
  
And Korra suddenly gets it, then. “It’s a deadly weapon that anyone can use.”  
  
“So it isn’t a game-changer,” Asami replies, somberly. “It could be  _the_  game-changer.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Korra stands and stares, a fine drizzle of rain dampening her hair as she gazes at the headstone. There are flowers on the grave, lots of them, probably from Tenzin or Bumi. It is the eighteenth anniversary of Avatar Aang’s death, and without coincidence, it is also her birthday. It’s strange, because she’s never really felt like celebrating any of her birthdays because it’s always coincided with this one miserable reminder. She grew up under Katara’s tutelage; she’s known Aang’s kids all her life. Now she knows his grandchildren too and thinks of them as close as her own nieces and nephews. How could she celebrate her birthday with all of that?   
  
The others try, of course. Katara has never been anything less than gracious to a fault, and even Tenzin has gone out of his way to entertain party plans this year under Pema’s needling. Korra doesn’t protest out loud, but she passively accepts the well wishes and tries not to wince when people keep making it a big deal. She just wants this day to pass without remark.  
  
“Hello, Aang,” she says to his grave. “You wouldn’t believe how big your youngest grandchild is getting. Rohan is already a terror at just seven months, and I bet he’s going to give Meelo a run for his money as soon as he starts crawling. You should see how proud Tenzin is of him, of all of them. Bumi spoils them silly, too. He’s a bit indulgent with me, too, actually. Let’s me get away with late curfews and defends me against Tenzin when he’s on a warpath because I haven’t kept up with my airbending training schedule. But I’m doing well with airbending! Kicking ass and taking names, as they say. You’ll be glad to hear I’m close to taking my final Airbending Test. It just took me half a year – well, eighteen years really. Happy birthday to me.”  
  
She suddenly feels like crying, and she has no idea _why_. Korra tries to remind herself that she has to be strong for everyone. She has to look like she’s knows what she’s doing, even if at times it’s painfully obvious that she’s just a kid.  
  
Well, not anymore. Eighteen years old. She is, by all accounts, an adult.  
  
Why doesn’t she feel that way, then?  
  
“Everybody still misses you,” Korra goes on to say.  
  
“You should be celebrating,” a voice speaks up from behind, and she’s only a little startled to turn and find Avatar Aang’s spirit behind her. She’s made several spiritual connections to him over the months, but it’s always a shock to her whenever she manages it. “What are you doing standing over a grave on your _birthday_?” he asks her, sounding scandalized.  
  
“Paying my respects.”  
  
“You think you have to come to my final resting place for that? Korra, you can always just reach out to me whenever you need to – I’m always here, listening.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s…” she pauses, admitting, “sorta creepy, if I take that literally. You’re not  _always_  watching, are you?”  
  
He coughs. “We, uh, try to give you some privacy. Especially when you’re with Mako.”  
  
“Appreciate that,” she returns wryly.   
  
“Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”  
  
“Who says I wanted to talk about anything?”  
  
“You’re standing over my grave, Korra.”  
  
“Oh. Right. I was just—”  
  
“Paying your respects, I know. Well, you’ve done that. I’m feeling fully respected now. Seriously. I’m brimming with respectfulness. So go and enjoy the rest of the day already! My son has spent the entire day throwing up streamers for a birthday party—” Aang winces. “Well, um, uh – a surprise birthday party, actually. Uh, just pretend like it’s a shock when you get back, okay?”  
  
She laughs. “I already knew. Your grandkids aren’t exactly known for keeping their mouths closed about – well, anything.”  
  
Aang grins. “It’s a family trait.” He pauses. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about anything?”  
  
She takes a deep breath, and shakes her head. “I just wish… I just wish I knew what to do next.”  
  
“Well, I can’t tell you the future and I can’t tell you what to do, but from where I’m standing, it seems to me like you’re on the right track.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Her shoulders drop a notch in tension. “Thanks, Aang. That means a lot coming from you.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Attending a group therapy session with metalbenders suffering from Posttraumatic Stress Disorder wouldn't have even occurred to Korra on her own. After all, she isn't a person that often talks about her feelings, at least with strangers, and apart from random rumors she’s heard here and there, she doesn't know the first thing about PTSD. But Lin mentions it offhand to Tenzin one day, and the more time she spends with Tahno, or the more she hears from Bolin about his metalbending colleagues, those same policemen that Amon had left powerless for those few weeks, Korra realizes that maybe it’s a good idea to entertain.  
  
She still doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing when she first arrives, and she’s thankful that she at least dressed in disguise because she knows a handful of the faces in the crowd and doesn’t want the recognition back.  
  
“This is pathetic,” Tahno remarks, into her ear with a belligerent tone.  
  
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” she warns.   
  
“You sure your Neanderthal boyfriend doesn’t mind us being here? Because I think he’d object to—”  
  
“Stop trying to weasel your way out of this,” Korra warns. “And for your information, Mako knows about this. He doesn’t like it because he doesn’t like  _you_ , but he realizes this is important to me, and he’s supportive like a boyfriend should be.”  
  
“Whipped, you mean,” Tahno mocks.  
  
Korra glares. “Laugh it up, but you’re not getting out of this.”   
  
“I’m only here because it’ll prove to you I’m serious about being good and noble, and protecting puppy-turtles, and all that other justice crap you go on about all the time. But I don’t actually think this meeting is going to be beneficial to me in any way. It might be detrimental.”  
  
“To what? Your ego? And play nice. If you insult any of these people here, I’ll throw you across the room so fast your new hair will arrive by mail two days after.”  
  
“This is not a wig,” he insists through clenched teeth.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, pretty boy.”  
  
A young woman is the first to stand and approach the podium. “Welcome. The host has asked me to start off the meeting, so let me tell you a little about why I'm here. My name is Alyia and I am a firebender. I was attacked by Amon’s men during the Great Raid on the city, and like all of you, my bending was taking away. But what was worse, my  _child’s_  bending was taking away. Thankfully Avatar Korra—” and Korra sinks lower into her chair, huddling down in an oversized hat while Tahno snickers, “eventually gave us back our abilities, I still have nightmares every night. I saw Amon approach my youngest son, and there was nothing I could do about it. I have never felt so powerless in my life.”  
  
“Thank goodness for Avatar Korra,” someone in the crowd murmurs, and there is a ripple of assent.  
  
Korra doesn’t know why that shocks her so much, but it does.  
  


* * *

  
  
Korra has a free pass to test drive any of the Satomobiles whenever she likes; she normally doesn’t take such shameless advantage of Asami’s generosity like that, but – well, she just really, really loves driving them. Thankfully, she’s never wrecked any of the Satomobiles, and any damage she’s done to the racetrack has been minimal. She’s even made friends with some of the other race car drivers, particularly one – a woman about ten years older than Korra, named Oya, who has dark short hair and blue eyes.   
  
Oya is by far the most skilled driver on the track, and the one Korra always wants to race against because she knows the best way to improve on a new skill is always to challenge someone who is better.  
  
“You’re not at all anything like I imagined,” Oya remarks, one day out of the blue.  
  
“What did you imagine?” Korra asks, curious.  
  
Oya has a thoughtful look on her face, somber and serious. “I don’t know, but I thought the Avatar would be…”   
  
“Wiser? Stronger?” Korra offers, because she’s heard it all before. “Not so loud?”  
  
“Not so open,” Oya settles on. “You have… a very black-and-white way of looking at things.”   
  
“Isn’t that a good thing?”  
  
Oya smiles. “It can be, I suppose.”  
  


* * *

  
  
One day she goes to visit Bolin at the academy, but he’s still in the last ten minutes of his metalbending training session and he doesn't look up to greet her with a smile (he always does; it’s a universal constant with Bolin); she's been there for two minutes before she catches a glimpse of his black eye. It seems out of character, so unlike him: he's the kind of gentle and talented that speaks of power held in check. But she doesn't ask, doesn't say anything at all, not until they've finished the session, and then she merely  _looks_  at him (it's a look she's perfected well over the months with Tenzin’s mischievous kids running afoot, and it never fails lately).  
  
“It’s just,” Bolin says, sounding embarrassed. “I’m just – I’m just having a rough time getting a hang of this metalbending thing as quick as some of the others. It’s been  _months_ , and I haven’t metalbent a single thing.”  
  
“Hey, you really think I’m gonna judge you on that? Hello, maybe we haven’t met? I’m the Avatar that couldn’t unlock my airbending for the first seventeen years of my life.”  
  
“That’s different,” Bolin insists.  
  
Yes, Korra thinks. In her case, the lapse in her skills was unforgivable.  
  
“I just feel like everything is coming at me at right angles.” He shoves his fingers through his hair and then the words come bursting out. “I’ve always been good at earthbending. I mean, hey, talent this natural is born, you know?” The false smugness drops quickly. “But metalbending is… it’s harder than I thought.”  
  
He looks up at her hopelessly, and just once, Korra wants to find the right words to reassure someone but words have never been her strong suit. She tries, anyway. “That’s what makes it so awesome, though,” Korra tells him, trying to marshal together the right words. “When you finally do get a hang of it – and trust me, you will – it’ll be all the more special because it took so much time and effort. I mean, look at me. I’m the Avatar, but you’re already advancing in a type of bending that even I can’t do. I’ve tried Metalbending, and like seismic sensing or plantbending or —” she shudders, “bloodbending, it’s a skill I don’t have.”  
  
Bolin looks up. “I just don’t want to fail. Can you imagine disappointing Mako or—”  
  
“Hey,” Korra cuts in. “Mako can be stubborn, and god knows he can be an idiot, but he loves you and he’s proud of you. He’d never be disappointed in you for this. Ever. Besides, it’s not even going to be an issue, Bolin. You’re going to make a fantastic metalbender.”  
  
“You think so?”   
  
“I  _know_  so.”   
  


* * *


	4. 气和 - Air is Peaceful

* * *

> 气和 - Air is Peaceful

  
  
Asami wears a skirt slit up to her thigh and a neckline that plunges like a waterfall, and yet she still manages to look demure. Prim, even. Korra knows she’ll never be the type of woman that will drive men into a frenzy of longing and women into a jealous rage, but Korra still wonders what it would be like to be the center of attention like that. Asami seems to be spending an inordinate amount of time with Iroh, too, though Korra isn’t sure if that actually means anything. She can't get a read on either of them, because they're both so closed-lipped about it, and it could just her imagination working overtime; wouldn't be the first time. Besides, Asami could just be being a good host as always; she's always had this ability to glide through the party like the belle of the ball, after all.   
  
Korra, on the other hand, sticks to the space between passing waiters with trays full of cocktails and the full symphony orchestra in the back; remarkably, they can switch from classical to jazz at the drop of a hat, and Korra taps a beat with her foot absentmindedly while she wonders how quickly she can get out of there.   
  
She feels a bit uncomfortable. Okay,  _a lot_  uncomfortable. Asami insisted on helping Korra choose her dress for the night, and it isn’t like her normal southern watertribe attire. In fact, she’s fairly sure her mother would drop in a dead faint if she could see Korra now. The dress is red and apparently all the rage with the current trends – a  _flapper_  dress, another woman had called it earlier. Korra finds herself constantly running her hands along the small sheer beaded material that runs just passed knee-length; her high heels are killing her. Also, she might have a run in her pantyhose.   
  
The only consolation for the night is that Mako had been rendered speechless upon first sight of her, and she’s taking that to mean she looks especially nice rather than ridiculous; or so everyone is telling her. Korra feels too out of her element to really appreciate the effect.   
  
Mako returns with two drinks in hand. “Here you go,” he hands her one glass, smiling. “It’s called a pear-apple tini, and if you can trust the bartender’s word for it, you’ll love it.”  
  
Korra takes one sip, then has to fight the gag reflex to spit it back out. “Ugh,” she makes a face. “This tastes awful, and I’m used to my mom’s sea prune juice!”  
  
Mako patiently hands her the other glass, still smiling. “Don’t worry. That’s why I brought this other glass. It’s plain soda.”  
  
She stares at him. “You knew I’d hate it?”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“Then why did you bring the apple tini whatever in the first place?”  
  
“Because apparently you’re trying new things tonight. And don’t get me wrong, I love the dress – or more importantly, the nice display of legs it shows off—” Korra hits him in the arm, reddening a little, but Mako only grins and continues unabated, “But I think I’ve learned a thing or two being your boyfriend, and these types of events? Are not your thing.”  
  
“So why are we here?”  
  
“Because we promised Asami we would come.” He pauses, leaning closer to whisper in her ear, and okay, the entire night might be worth it alone for seeing Mako in that suit of his, because –  _wow._  “And we came, so any time you wanna ditch, it’s fine by me.”  
  
“Mako, just say the word and I’m pretty sure I’ll do a running jump through the nearest window.”  
  
“Let’s try and be a little more subtle than that.”  
  
She releases a long-suffering sigh. “If you insist.”  
  
When they make their great escape, a strategy that enlists Bolin’s help in distraction, Korra and Mako spend the rest of the night strolling through the city park until the sun comes up. Mako doesn’t even complain when she hands him her heels to carry and she walks through the park barefoot, and it’s only at this point that she realizes — not for the first time — how absolutely, insanely _lucky_ she is to have Mako as a boyfriend.  
  
“I love you,” she tells him, because she can never tell him that enough.

* * *

  
  
“Korra,” Iroh greets.   
  
He's usually a bit rigid in his stance, even when he’s being informal, but today his eyes are both ringed with dark circles and he manages to look rumpled, despite his consistent military-enforced neatness.   
  
“What’s wrong?” she immediately asks.  
  
He smiles a bit ruefully. “That obvious, huh?”  
  
“Just a bit.”  
  
“It’s the Fire Nation,” he tells her. “You remember those rumors that indicated Hiroshi Sato might be distributing a full new shipment of guns to civilians there? Well, they’re not rumors anymore. The first confirmed attack happened yesterday. What’s worse, our sources indicate that Hiroshi might be working on something bigger. A bomb of some type, using radioactive material.”  
  
“Radioactive material?” Korra repeats, horrified.   
  
“The Republic Forces want me to hunt him down and stop him before he reaches final testing stages.”  
  
“Oh,” Korra says, caught off guard with all the information. Her stomach drops in an unpleasant reminder that she doesn’t have many friends, and she’s come to see Iroh as one of her closest. She hates losing friends. "You're shipping out soon?"  
  
“Yeah. It’ll be nice to visit my mother and see my old friends,” he goes on to add, though his voice is so dejected that she knows he’s trying to convince himself more than anyone. “It’s just, I realized how much I’m going to miss this place. I guess I grew attached to Republic City without even realizing it.”  
  
“When are you leaving?”  
  
“The end of the week,” Iroh tells her. “Bumi can’t spare me before then. Actually, I was hoping to catch your Airbending Test before I left.”  
  
Korra fights off a shudder at the unwelcomed reminder. The self-imposed deadline is fast catching up with her, and though she’s only been all too eager to face down her previous elemental tests, the idea of finally coming head-to-head with the biggest hurdle in her life in a definitive test — well, it's proving more than a little intimidating to Korra. It doesn’t help that everyone is talking about it lately, encouraging her and praising her talents, when all she wants to do is stop thinking about it.  
  
“The end of the week?” she refocuses on Iroh. “But that’s barely any time for you.”  
  
“I know, but orders are orders.”  
  
Korra pauses, then ventures very, very carefully, “What about Asami?”  
  
Iroh’s eyes snap to her, wide. “What about her?”  
  
Korra huffs a breath. “You’re not fooling anyone, buddy. You and Asami. You know what.”  
  
Iroh stands stiffly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and even if I did, there’s nothing to be said about it anyway. I’m leaving in a few days. I likely won’t be back for several months, and anything we had, or any  _possibility_  we had,” he says the latter a bit severely, enough so that Korra suspects nothing actually  _happened_ between Iroh and Asami, though not for a lack of want. “It’s all pointless now anyway.”  
  
Korra isn’t as sure, but she keeps silent anyway.  
  


* * *

  
  
They meet the new masked Equalist leader on a Tuesday night – or should Korra say, they meet with the Equalist leader’s  _fists._  A combination of hand-to-hand combat and a motorcycle accident leaves quite the impression on Korra’s body. It feels like something with a grudge ate her up and spat her back out, but she’s more concerned about the others. Korra is no stranger to having her life threatened. She’s used to it. The feeling of being chased by thugs and lowlifes is as familiar as her lessons in airbending. But it’s always a painful surprise to see the people she loves being threatened; she’s dragged Mako and Bolin into another one of her messes, and now she’s surrounded by twenty members of the most elite Equalist fighters, all of them with electric gloves aimed to stun and kill, and she’s completely out of ideas. Her chest tightens when she sees Mako go down, her breathing accelerates when Bolin screams out, and Korra’s vision blacks out when she takes the next electric shock from behind.   
  
She comes back to consciousness to the overwhelming force of another assault. Someone jabs Korra in the solar plexus, her fifth vertebrae, her arm at the wrist and elbow, relatively light jabs using fingers and knuckles, and Korra crumbles at the knees.   
  
“The most important thing,” her attacker says, softly – a female, “is not to panic in these moments. Breathe through it, and focus not on your limbs, but on the rise and fall of your chest. The pain of the chi-blocking will pass.”  
  
Korra hates the feeling. She struggles to gain use of her fingers and a part of her flashes back to the seconds after Amon had taken away her bending. The sense of helplessness, the utter certainty of loss. She trains her eyes on her attacker, watching as the Equalist first puts Korra in handcuffs, then pulls her own mask off to reveal – Oya.   
  
She suddenly can’t figure out how she hadn’t seen it before. Oya has talent, skill, a sharp mind and the best Satomobile driver on the course. The dexterity and intelligence demonstrated by the older woman is probably only a precursor to the number of reasons she could lead the Equalists.  
  
“I’ve waited a long time to have this conversation.”  
  
She spies Mako and Bolin unconscious twenty feet from her and tries to assess their injuries, but she can’t. They're too far away.  
  
“Forgive the introductions, but I wanted your full attention without any unnecessary threats. Your threats, I mean. I’m not interesting in hearing them.”  
  
Oya grabs a nearby chair, flips it end over end and slams it on its legs in front of Korra. She straddles it backwards, facing Korra with a smile as she settles in. The look is neither friendly nor amused. “You are,” Oya begins, tiredly, “a troublesome little girl. I had thought Amon’s handling of you was always sloppy. Even if you are the Avatar, we had truth and conviction on our side. It wasn’t until Amon was revealed as a traitor that I realized why we lost before. It confounds me, though, why we still continue to lose. Our cause is true. It is right. My people have and will give their lives for it.”  
  
“Your cause,” Korra struggles to say, and the feeling in her body is returning; the cuffs are still a problem though, “is based on hate. That’s why it loses.”  
  
Oya’s eyes flash with anger, but it’s restrained. “In any case, there are other places to continue the revolution. Republic City will one day be our crown jewel, but it need not be the first to change. We have the entire world to revolutionize. You can’t be everywhere, Avatar Korra. But Equalists can.”  
  
Korra wants to rage. She wants to shout and scream, to tell Oya that she’ll never win, but Oya rises to her full intimidating height, and pulls out a sidearm from a holster at her hip. Korra recognizes the new model of guns, and stares fixatedly at the barrel as Oya raises the gun directly towards Korra’s forehead.  
  
“Amon was a fool,” Oya says, coldly. “He let you live, and for that, he lost everything. I don’t plan on repeating my predecessor’s mistakes.”  
  
“Wait—” Korra gasps in horror, just as Oya pulls the trigger.  
  
The moment is shattered when the bullet fires out, a loud bang and burst of light, then comes to a screeching halt mid-air less than three inches from Korra’s forehead. There’s a sudden crash from the side – and Korra turns, finding Bolin walloping with joy. “Ha! Take that, geniuses! Maybe you should make those bullets out of something other than metal!”  
  
Bolin metalbent the bullet.   
  
Korra’s jaw is hanging open, so shocked that it takes her a full second to realize he’s also bent the handcuffs off her. It takes another split second to react, but Korra shakes off her surprise and attacks. She jerks up, driven by adrenaline and dives right across the room towards Oya and knocks the gun out of her hands. They land in a pile on the ground. Korra rolls over, popping back up on her feet. Oya advances, but Mako crashes to the floor with a grunt nearby, throwing a fireball. Oya slams into the wall. Bolin fends off an advancing group of Equalists, while Korra forces herself to stand on wobbly legs.  
  
“You should give it up now,” Oya taunts, already backing away. She signals her men away, and the Equalists immediately abide by retreating. “You’ll never be able to stop us,” Oya says. “Not everywhere.”  
  
After they’re gone, Korra collapses onto her knees, suddenly weak again. “Korra?” Mako asks, frantic. He helps her to her feet and Korra feels so anemic that she has to brace more than half her weight on his body. “Are you injured?”  
  
“Not really, thanks to your brother,” she says, trying to keep her voice light. “Bolin, have I told you lately how  _cool_  metalbending is?”  
  
“Bolin,” Mako says, turning, “That was  _amazing_.”  
  
Bolin beams with obvious pride. “Guess those metalbending lessons finally paid off, huh? Chief Beifong kept saying I needed to use visceral power to reach my full potential.” His smile falters. “I guess it took seeing Korra in trouble to tap into that. Man, let's never do that again.”   
  
“Agreed,” Korra says, wholeheartedly.  


* * *

  
  
Her legs feel swollen and painfully stiff as she makes her way towards Mako’s quarters later that night, without speaking, side by side so that they’re practically leaning on each other as they walk. She stumbles in the hallway a bit, and Mako catches her when she falls towards him, her fingers snagging the neck of his shirt and tugging at his scarf.  
  
“You all right?” he asks, worriedly. “I can get one of the healers over—”  
  
“No,” she cuts in, but she’s not in the mood to bluff or lie. Not to Mako. “Let’s just get to the bathroom and clean up a bit,” she deflects. “I can heal both of us.”  
  
Her bending seems to be coming back, slowly. Mako seals his lips into a thin line, but he doesn’t press the issue; she knows today had been a near thing, and neither of them want to think about it too much. It’s  _all_  they can think about, though.  
  
She follows him into the room, and she insists on doing his injuries first, so she helps him unfasten his shirt, at first concerned over his wounds — but then the haze slowly lifts. The sight of his defined muscles beneath his open shirt is a lovely distraction to depressing thoughts, and Korra reaches for it in her exhausted state. The sight of him getting undressed has always distracted her because they’ve been circling the drain lately with their resolve to hold off on having sex. Korra feels like at this point they’re holding back for an engraved invitation or something, when all she wants to do is just  _jump_  him already. The day's events aren't helping her self-restraint any, but it's different this time. _Heavier._  
  
He reaches for a washcloth, completely oblivious to the wayward trajectory of her thoughts as he wipes some dirt off his chest and abdomen, and so she props her hip against a sink and watches him. She thinks, faintly, about the sight of him falling off that motorbike and crashing against the pavement. A different angle, and they’d be wiping his blood up off the road rather than washing dirt off his body.   
  
If Bolin hadn’t tapped into his metalbending abilities, they’d be planning her funeral right about now.  
  
Eventually, he notices her unfocused gaze. “What?” he asks, concerned.  
  
She deflects again. “Let me check out that wound on your thigh,” she tells him, and her lips tug up a little in exhausted mirth as the thought catches hold. “You’re going to need to take off your pants.”  
  
He raises an eyebrow, then accepts her challenge like she knew he would. He looks away, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling his pants, and Korra doesn’t take her eyes off him. It’s shameless, and he’s knows what she’s doing now, if the half-repressed smirk at the edge of his lips is anything to judge by – but Korra thinks that it’s getting a little ridiculous that they’re still teetering on any form of propriety or false sense of modesty. She loves him. He loves her. They’ve seen each other in various states of undress, and his mouth has been over every inch of her body, and vice-versa. So why the need for any barriers anymore?   
  
They nearly lost each other tonight.  
  
In that moment, she comes to a decision.   
  
She uncrosses her arms and reaches for the faucet, drawing a ball of water and directing it towards Mako’s wounds. As the healing does its work, she lets heated silence reign for just a few seconds. "Mako,” she says carefully, “I think I’m ready.”  
  
With his shirt half off and only in underwear, he stares at her in confusion. "Ready?"  
  
She chews on her lower lip, suddenly — infuriatingly — a little nervous. “I think I’m _ready_ ,” she stresses, and when she forces her eyes up to met his, she hopes the way she looks at him conveys her message clearly.  
  
He freezes, getting it entirely — if the heavy bob of his Adam’s apple is any indication. “You mean... _ready_ -ready?”  
  
“Yeah.” When he doesn't say anything, she prompts him, "Unless you don't want—"  
  
“What, no, of course I want—” he interrupts quickly, snaps his mouth shut and then takes a heady breath. “I want—I mean, I definitely want—god, Korra,  _yes_ , but are you, are you sure?”   
  
“Mako,” she says, almost laughing. "You’re not going to make me repeat it a dozen times, are you?”  
  
His face closes off, carefully controlled, but he’s still holding the washcloth like he’s forgotten what it’s for, but if she studies his body language carefully – which, let’s face it, she takes any opportunity to study his body with rampant enthusiasm – she can tell he’s barely containing himself.   
  
Tightly controlled, that’s Mako for you.  
  
She steps forward, grabs the ends of his shirt and tugs it off. His gaze is steady on hers, and she sees him swallow again.   
  
In response, she just kisses him.   
  
It isn’t fast. It isn’t frenzied. They’ve done that so many times before, and always, always they end up stopping before they cross that final line. She doesn’t want Mako thinking about her hesitating, doesn’t want doubts to spring up this time, that they're moving too fast or she's being too reckless again, so she’s careful and deliberate about her seduction, kissing him just the way he likes, lingering on his lower lips when she pulls away.  
  
"Korra," he starts, and she knows from his tone that he’s getting serious, that his mind is going somewhere intimate and deep when she’s just trying to dislodge any functioning part of it. "I love you," he says quietly, voice barely audible as his hands settle on her hips. “I love you in a maddening, frightening, indefinable type of way. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, you know that?”  
  
She fights off a blush. “Yeah? Then what are you doing still talking?”  
  
He threads both hands through her hair and tugs her towards him. She responds immediately, instantly, and they both finally stop holding back. Her hands come to rest against his chest, and her mouth moves against his, tongues toying, the kiss this time insistent and hard. His damp hands fall down, tracing a finger along the edges of her shirt, and then a moment later hooking onto the belt of her pants. She feels him unbuckle her belt with deft fingers. Heat floods her body. Korra forgets about the water still streaming down the sink, his just-healed injuries or any of hers, because the way his half-naked body aligns with hers wrecks any thoughts.  
  
She feels a little delirious, losing time as he guides her back to the bedroom where his cot is barely big enough for one. They refuse to separate, so the distance is covered with fumbling and awkward movements but she doesn't care. He sheds her clothing along the way, and she feels so damn powerful and sexy when he looks at her, at the sight of her laid bare and naked across the thin, scratchy mattress. His mouth, his hands, his skin. She wants all of it. She tastes the crisp ice-cold water on his skin and hears him groan when she sucks the beads off his collarbone.   
  
He must have been anticipating this for some time, because he opens the dresser drawer at the side of the bed, and pulls out some contraceptive protection — and she colors, because she never really thought about that. She's glad at least one of them is prepared, and it's no surprise it's Mako. She swallows when he rolls it on, and then props himself up over her heavily on bent forearms like a broken doll. He's pressed against her opening, and she feels herself trembling and wet, and he looks at her, a little worried — so she grips at his wrist in encouragement and nods. Her chest feels inexplicably tight, and she notices he’s dragging air into his lungs with effort like the air is stagnate for the both of them.    
  
When he pushes inside of her, there’s a bite of pain, tight and burning, and it doesn’t pass nearly as quickly enough for Korra’s tastes, but she slides her palms up and down his arms, her fingers stroking the natural lines of muscles with encouragement as he moves. She pulls him in deeper even as he keeps moving steady strokes in and out and in and out and he licks her lip, grabs her hip and hitches her leg higher, sliding in again, further, further. She closes her eyes, and her hands roam over his toned shoulders, snaking around his neck; he’s gentle with his touch, pushing into her over and over again as she lays flat against the mattress with him stretched out over her. Pleasure takes over, building and growing.   
  
They kiss, hands fumbling, mouths latching onto patches of exposed skin, and then Korra wraps her legs around his waist and clenches hard enough to force Mako to still. She places light kisses to his chest when he opens his mouth to ask,  _“What? Is something wrong—”_  and then shifts, swiftly, in one single graceful move, turns them over so that she’s the one on top. He groans her name when she begins to ride him, and his hips buck up into hers, only to be rewarded with a jolt of pleasure that nearly sends her over.   
  
But she doesn’t come that first time. That’s okay, though. Mako gets plenty of practice that night, and every night thereafter, when Korra slips into his room closer and closer to dawn, he makes sure to make it up to her threefold.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Mako,” she tells him that third night, once she catches her breath and the afterglow starts to fade. “I think I’ve reached a decision about the Equalists.”  
  
“Your pillow talk needs to improve,” he mutters her, dryly.  
  
She swats him against the shoulder. “I’m serious. We need to talk about something.”  
  
“Okay, okay. No chance this could wait until morning? I’m kinda sleepy.”  
  
She rolls her eyes. She’s discovered, to her vast amusement, that his stamina after sex is considerably lowered. She isn’t sure if he’s always this exhausted after sex because she wears him out or if it’s a normal guy-thing, but either way, she’s likewise noticed this period is also the best time to talk calmly with Mako about things he might otherwise freak out about.  
  
The advantages of sex — they keep multiplying in Korra’s estimations.  
  
“What do you think about the Fire Nation?”  
  
Mako lifts his head, staring at her with a tuff of his hair going in every direction. “What about the Fire Nation?” he asks, suspiciously.  
  


* * *

  
  
Her Airbending Test takes place on a Saturday morning, in front of the entire world.  
  
Okay, maybe not the  _entire_  world, but it feels like that to Korra because everyone she cares about has shown up to watch her tackle this final test. Mako, Bolin, Iroh and Asami wish her luck before joining the small crowd at the edges of the Air Temple training area. She can see Tenzin’s kids, Pema and her relatives, Lin, and Bumi. Her parents stand at the end, having arrived just the other day by sea — and her dad  _hates_  sailing. It’s a welcome surprise to have them here to support her. Of course, the Order of the White Lotus have shown up too, and she knows they’ve never been her biggest fan, especially the head honcho guy who always treats Korra like she’s a reckless little girl with no sense of discipline. But hey, that means Master Katara came too, and Korra is happy for that.  
  
She’s also wishing the Earth would swallow her up whole.   
  
She’s never felt this sense of intimidation before for her other elemental tests, but it skyrockets when she sees Tenzin step out onto the training area to face her. She’s never challenged her master in any of the previous tests. She thinks there should be some sort of rule against that, but there's limited options for adversaries. Instead of facing off against White Lotus guards like she’s done for every other test, Korra finds herself facing off against Tenzin because he’s the only other fully-trained airbender in the world.   
  
“Okay, Korra,” she tells herself, whispering encouragements. “You can do this.”  
  
They’re both wearing garbs of red and yellow, and Tenzin has changed out of his ceremonial robes into a slightly modified one. There’s no cloak. He looks intimidating when he stops seven paces from her, standing at a full foot taller than her, but he smiles warmly and gives her a reassuring look just before he bows.   
  
“Avatar Korra,” he greets, formally.  
  
“Sifu Tenzin,” she returns with a similar bow.  
  
The test begins almost before she’s ready, but the gauntlet rings and she reacts.   
  
Unsurprisingly, she is the first to attack. She looses an air-bullet first, trying to wing Tenzin by the shoulder. He rebounds with a heavy forced blast that ricochets out in concentric circles. The wind slams into Korra and she jumps, twisting and then vaulting off one of the dense bamboo trees at the side to escape his attack. She fires off an air-tunnel, constructing a small vortex into a pocket of air and then sending it towards Tenzin. He easily leaps away.  
  
She directs another large, wide-sweeping blade of air towards him and then a third so that it pelts him from the side. He stumbles, and she takes advantage, but it isn’t more than another three steps before the tide turns and he’s got her on the defensive again. He comes at her with a row of tornados, one after another so they surround her on all sides. Korra has to whirl through them, turning and spinning, and she has no choice but to run off course.  
  
In theory, they aren’t supposed to leave the training area during the test. In actuality, Korra doesn’t care. Neither does Tenzin apparently, because he chases her when she leaves the flat even ground for the unsteady rocks at the side. The line of bamboo trees whip about as the gust of air Korra marshals together builds into a gale-force wind. She uses the trees as cover. She uses her agility to move. She hides and throws surprise attacks, moving with no motive but to disorient Tenzin into making a mistake. He’s not easily thrown, and more than once Korra takes a hit that knocks her to the ground.  
  
There’s a building clash of air in the atmosphere. Korra’s aware that it sounds like a storm is growing on the horizon — fierce and turbulent — but she’s too focused on the smaller details to pick up on how it looks. The audience and the weather are a distant concern. Korra only concentrates on Tenzin, rapidly spinning around, footsteps quick and buoyant.  
  
There’s another series of exchanges, of hard hits and quicker retreats. Korra feels herself transform into a being as light as air itself; she gathers the wind and springs back up from a dive, releasing it. Then it’s like slow motion, watching from a distance as Tenzin takes the hit, the mark hitting dead-center, and he flies back, arms limp like ropes, crashing to the ground. She’s on top of him before he has the chance to recover.  
  
“Yield,” she says, breathless and panting.  
  
Tenzin blinks up at her, splayed out on the ground. He shakes his head, breathing just as heavily, then to her shock, slowly smiles. “I yield,” he says, and in the rush of adrenaline it takes a moment for Korra to place the emotion behind the smile, but it’s  _pride_. “You win, Avatar Korra.”  
  
There’s a full beat of silence, before Korra hears a full wallop of joy from the crowd behind them and she realizes – she passed.  
  


* * *

  
  
“That was so  _awesome_!” Bolin exclaims, giddy. “It was like  _whoosh_  and  _bham_  and _pow_ , and tornados! Did you see that thing you did when you went into the trees? The entire forest was swaying! I’ve never seen anything like it! Man, who knew watching airbending matches could be so  _epic_?”  
  
Korra laughs, enjoying the moment and the festivities. Across the room, she tosses an encouraging smile at Mako as he talks with her father, attempting to breach that severe distance that had shadowed both men earlier in the year. Her father is returning the effort, it seems. She hopes they can work out their differences. And down further in the hall, passed the small table where Meelo is making weird faces at the baby and Asami and Katara are laughing, she can see another dozen animated conversations transpiring between all her friends and family — but her gaze fixes on Tenzin across the room; she feels her chest expand with joy.  
  
This is it. She’s a fully realized Avatar, master of all four elements. It’s just an official acknowledgment to what people have been telling her for some time, but it still means something to Korra. Even all the members of the White Lotus Order had acknowledged Korra’s abilities, this time without the usual caveat that took a dig at her shortcomings.  
  
It’s time, she realizes.  
  
She looks across the room to Mako, and nods. He straightens immediately, excusing himself from her father, and walks to the center of the room. “Everybody,” he calls out, shouting. The room continues to chatter, undisturbed. “Can I have your attention please? Korra has something to say.” There’s no response. “Hey!” he yells.   
  
Korra puts her fingers to her lips and blows out a loud whistle.   
  
Everybody goes quiet.  
  
Mako rolls his eyes. “Korra has an announcement.”  
  
“Oh yay!” Jinora squeals in excitement, suddenly. “You’re getting married, aren’t you!”  
  
Korra and Mako’s eyes bug out, simultaneously.   
  
“Oh, god,” her father exclaims, mortified, “you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”   
  
“What? No!” they exclaim, and she doesn’t want to read too much into the  _strength_ behind that adamant denials, except that she’s thankful Mako looks as flustered as her. “Dad, I’m not pregnant and, no, we’re not getting married.”  
  
There’s a collective sigh of relief from the room. Korra tries not to feel offended, especially since her mom was younger than her when she had Korra, but they’re getting off track. “I have an announcement to make,” Korra continues, unclenching her jaw. “About the Equalists.”  
  
Tenzin steps forward. “What is it, Korra?”  
  
“I’ve been thinking a lot about them,” Korra continues; she had a whole speech prepared, one that she spent days trying to phrase, but it feels like one big giant jumbled mess in her head now. It’s probably better if she just speaks from the heart, anyway. “I've been thinking about a lot of things, actually. About why non-benders are so angry, and why some of them hate us so much. I realized a while ago that it wasn’t hate, but  _fear._  I can understand that. Fear is something I can relate to, because I’ve always felt… I know I act like I want to attack everything head-on, that I don't always think things through before rushing into them, but the truth is, I've never taken the responsibility of the Avatar lightly. It's on my shoulders, and that's — that's _scary_. That fear, it would be so easy to let it rule me. I’ve continued to struggle with what I have to do, who I need to be. But I feel it in my gut now. I know what I have to do, and it’s this: I have to leave Republic City.”  
  
There's a lengthy beat that follows, where no one says anything, where the statement of her words soak up the space in unpunctuated silence.  
  
“What are you talking about, sweetie?” her mother says, looking floored. “Republic City is your new home.”  
  
Korra smiles. “It is, but… look, by now you’ve all heard that the Equalists are pulling out of Republic City. Thanks to the efforts of everyone here, the general counsel, the public sympathy, the police forces — we’ve made it harder for the Equalists to sink their teeth into Republic City. But it’s just one city, and I owe a duty to the entire world. Iroh informed me the other day that he’s going to the Fire Nation to find and track down Hiroshi Sato. I’m going with him.”  
  
Asami is quiet at the other end of the room, before she speaks up, “You worried about his new bomb.”  
  
“I’m always worried when it comes to Hiroshi Sato,” Korra admits, softly. “And I met the new Equalist leader the other day, and that woman, Oya, she isn’t going to go down without a fight. So, I know you all want me to be patient. I know that you want me to wait for a proper plan and course of action, to—”  
  
“Indeed,” Tenzin cuts in, walking forward. “There is a time and place for both patience and action, Korra. And I think, as the Avatar, if you think it’s a good idea, then we all will support you in any way that you need.”  
  
A gust of air escapes her lungs, a bit relieved. “You will?”  
  
Tenzin smiles, softly. “We will.”   
  
Korra smiles back. “Thanks. I guess… I guess I thought it’d be a harder sell than that.”  
  
Tenzin laughs. “Once again, Korra, you underestimate yourself.”  
  


* * *

  
  
The horizon dawns cold and sludgy, bathing the ocean in a tan, dim light. The sunlight cuts through shadows and Korra wraps her arms around herself, fending off the chill from a gust of wind. Iroh’s ship is almost set to sail, and she needs a moment to herself to say goodbye to Republic City. It feels sort of surreal that it’s come to this. She had no idea when she first came to this place that it’d come to mean so much to her, but it has, and she feels pained about leaving.  
  
“Hey,” Mako says, pulling her out of her thoughts. He walks across. “You all right?”  
  
“Yeah, just… I’m gonna miss this place, y’know?”  
  
He smiles. This time, she never said,  _“You don't have to come with me,”_  and he never had to say,  _“Yes, I do.”_  Both statements went without saying because Korra knows better than to argue with Mako about this. Besides, there’s nowhere else she wants him to be. Even Bolin’s addition isn’t all that surprising.  _“Chief Beifong gave me orders to keep an eye on you,”_  he told Korra, then shuddered dramatically.  _“And that woman is SCARY_.” The surprise, however, had come when she’d seen Asami approaching the ship.  _“He’s my father,”_  Asami explained.  _“I can’t leave this to anyone else. I’ve already given a furlough to the Counsel. They’ll be running general elections this fall for someone to take over my seat, but in the meantime I have one of my most trusted advisors working as a proxy.”_  
  
Korra doesn’t like leaving Republic City, but with her friends at her side, it seems a little less like she’s leaving  _home_.  
  
“Ready to go?” Iroh calls out.   
  
Korra turns, spotting him with Asami and Bolin. She doesn’t comment on the fact that he’s walking close enough to Asami that the artful term of personal space has lost all meaning.  
  
“Yeah,” she returns, smiling a bit bittersweet, “I think we’re all set to—”  
  
“Mind one more addition, Uh-vatar?”  
  
Korra whirls around to find Tahno standing at the end of the dock, holding a single bag thrown over his shoulder. The clothes are neat, but well-worn, and his hair is combed back for once, neat but not styled. He looks like every other working man on the dock, and the sight throws her.  
  
“Tahno,” she says, and she can’t keep the shock from registering in her voice. “What are you doing here?”  
  
He shrugs a little, sheepishly. “Did I ever tell you my dad was a sailor? I grew up on boats. Thought I could join you for a trip, if you didn’t mind.”  
  
“Why?” Mako asks, suspiciously.  
  
“I told you before, where there’s a fight against the Equalists, I want in.”  
  
Korra deflates a little, still discouraged that he seems hellbent on carrying out his vendetta, but at the same time, she also feels a brief spike in hope. He’s  _asking_  to join, not rushing into things like a bull. That has to count for something, right?  
  
Her thoughts are shattered when Mako steps forward. Korra braces herself for – what, she isn’t sure, but the rivalry is infamous between Mako and Tahno. “You’ll play by our rules?” Mako asks him.  
  
Tahno offers a sly smile. “The _Avatar’s_ rules,” he corrects. “Yeah.”  
  
Mako glowers at him, then after a lengthy beat of silence, surprises everyone when he jets out a hand. Tahno stares at the gesture for a long moment, caught off guard, before he walks across and returns the handshake. The two stare at each other, something masculine and probably insufferably arrogant passing between them, but Korra takes the gesture as one of goodwill.   
  
“Welcome aboard,” Korra says, laughing a little. “Wow, I guess it’s going to be a growing entourage.”  
  
“Team Avatar!” Bolin shouts. “We’re expanding!”  
  
The group gathers around Korra. She could close her eyes, ride out this moment with the sensation that things are changing, moving towards their rightful place. But then all too quickly the moment shatters: the ship finally starts drifting away from the dock, the group disbands, people going their separate ways, and Republic City starts receding into the horizon as they sail away. There’s a moment of fear in that second because it feels like a precious illusion is about to explode. She almost feels panicked. There’s still that persistent nagging voice in her head that tells her she can’t lose focus for even a second because she's been proven one too many times that control is a gift, not a guarantee; the fight against the Equalists is a game of chess, long and hard and a well-earned challenge, and at the end of the day, she needs to be the one to act out and make the hard calls. That’s what being the Avatar is all about.   
  
Korra could close her eyes and lose herself to this way of thinking, but then Mako reaches out to take her hand, threading fingers through hers, and there's a bead of sweat working at the very edge of his collarbone, flecks of amber in his eyes – and maybe this is all that matters. She might be the Avatar, but she isn’t alone. There’s love after all. It is her responsibility to act, but she has her friends and family, and they give her courage. They give her strength.   
  
It isn’t happily ever after, but Korra knows it’s a damn good start in the right direction.  
  


* * *

  
fin.


End file.
